Of Grace And Courage
by Dark OriginVTX
Summary: It is known as the Grace of Light, Twin unto destruction, pure, untainted. When it becomes infused with the soul of young Harry Potter, his privileged and sheltered life becomes entwined with the Song of Fate. Book One in the Song of Fate Cycle. AU - H/Hr - First Story - Please R
1. Prologue: Through The Darkness

_**Prologue – Through The Darkness**_

Wind issued amidst the trees. Slowly, with senses heightened, Bellatrix Black allowed herself a glance from behind her station, taken behind the mighty trunk of an ancient Ironwood tree. The trees themselves bristled within the wind, each bearing the rigorous strain of age. The ancient forest grew dark with brooding, weighted shadow. Overhead dense canopies of winding growth twisted together like a thousand knolled fingers.

The breeze whispered with a chill, implacable sense, brushed against Bellatrix's fine, well-bred features. She feared not the portentous nature of the forest, nor how the wind offered its own presence to the gloom. Amidst the silence of oaks, elms and ironwoods, so was offered the most delicate essence of silvered moonshine. The rays alit the darkness in their gentle sheen, the same way silver thus shimmers when touched by luminescence. Bellatrix was grateful for such simple luxuries. At her right hand she felt the powerful touch of the Divine.

Bellatrix drew in deep the air. Her senses roiled with satisfaction at the scent of which it carried, though it was not the fragrance of the forest, nor the perfume of nature which filled her senses, no. This scent was something so much more: rich, fragrant and so utterly, alluringly sweet. Bellatrix's mouth watered hungrily. The Divine caressed her long dark hair, she breathed at the touch, knowing of his strength. So long, so many schemes, so much death, all for this single, glorious moment, one must not fall now.

About she there gathered her three closest companions, the three which, united with her formed: The Vulcan. The four most feared warriors in all of Great Westernra.

Lucius, blessed with the fine of silvery-blonde tresses and dark grey eyes which followed the Line of Malfoy, stood as poised as a king. Adorned in the grey and white colours of his line, the great Dragon of Malfoy glinted gold with eyes of crimson fire abreast his coat of mail. He drew his weapon, an elegant rapier, forever cerise and weeping with the blood of those fallen to his hand. In company he was eulogized as '_The Dragon of Sonata,'_ in whispers he was cursed and hissed with spites of '_Kinslayer.'_

Stationed amidst brambles and shrubs stalked: The Beast. Himself, as wild and barbaric where Bellatrix and Lucius were fair and proud. Fenrir Greyback drooled ropes of oozing saliva from a harsh, cruel mouth. Once nothing more than a mere cutthroat, a barbarian, all had changed the night he was attacked by the wildlings which haunt the night: The werewolves. Now Fenrir lived for blood. Rewards spread from as deep as the shores of Ursir, to the steeples of Rewuri, offering riches to those who could purge the land of Fenrir's existence. All adding to the feast of flesh and blood of which fed his insatiable appetite.

Lastly there came the young man known only as The Youth. At birthing The Youth had been so labelled under the title: Barty Crouch Jr. His title coming as the second of the name to his true born father: Bartamous Crouch Senior. The Youth neither cared for his father's name, strictness or teachings. At the tender age of twelve, The Youth had fled the home he hated. Hungry, alone, desperate, he had almost given into fate and accepted that he bore not the strength for life. Only then, in his most dire of moments, did he find true meaning. Though these were secrets he never whispered, forever keeping a stony silence, his heart and soul unknown.

Pride surged through Bellatrix at the sight of her companions. Softly she caressed the fused Grace united with her, stationed within the flesh of her left arm, itself taking the form of a savage, primal glyph. She felt its chill touch against the living flesh of her hand. Her Grace, the one true Grace of perpetual Darkness pulsated vibrantly against her fingertips. Ravenously she licked her lips as the delicious power surged through her, the terrible touch of her Grace feeling more like a sense of love unfelt by anyone, felt by anything else in her life.

Honoured she was, honoured that of all the beings in Westernra, even above The One, the Grace of Darkness had chosen her as its vessel, bestowing unto her its nearing immeasurable power.

"_We sense our other."_ The high, chill voice of her Grace whispered within her. The voice was a voice so cold it would chill living blood. Though to Bellatrix the voice was a heartfelt, beloved companion. She felt it, as she knew her Grace felt its unity to its other. An intense, guttural, spiritual wrench, the soul seeking its lost fragment, they each torn away in the making, each, twins of themselves, though each as stark contrast as such was utterly possible to be.

"Yes.._."_ hissed Bellatrix. Around her the three other Vulcan shifted uneasily as they felt the intense surge of power radiate from their commander. Slowly Bellatrix touched the steel pommel of the sword which hung about her form to rest at her chest. The living sword uncoiled itself from around its master like some impossible steel-bladed serpent, where it came to form a splendid, spell crafted short sword, wielded with acute skill.

The Vulcan grew quiet at a signal from Bellatrix. Weapons were drawn, breathes stalled, the air grew deathly quiet as the feel of the other grew ever closer. From off in the woods so came the rustle of life. The disturbance of night dwellers, the scuttle of beast and bird as something other than they sifted amidst the trees. The wind drew the scent nearer, moonshine broke through the canopy of the trees, and with its rays so did The Vulcan gain sight of their quarry.

A contingency of horses formed slowly from amidst the shadows of the night, trotting at a precautionary pace. Heavily armoured guards encircled a fine, chestnut haired lady upon a sturdy garron horse. Though she herself wore no armour from what could be seen, and her cladding was of simple stock, it did none to undermine her beauty. At her back was an ornate wrought silver bow opposite a quiver of fine arrows, and at her side a short unadorned sword. About her front was slung a holster of which she held tight with a free hand as if in fear of relinquishing hold of the contents. Bellatrix licked her lips wolfishly as the contingency drew in close to the four Vulcan.

A surge from the ladies holster filled the air with a mighty blast of energy. Bellatrix screamed as the Grace infused with herself released its own burst of energy. The air erupted into a shower of golden sparks as the two Grace's connected. At once the lady urged her horse forward into a canter. The Youth surged forward. Lifting his simple wooden staff, The Youth slammed his weapon into the earth, unleashing a terrible rend within the forest floor, shaking the ground and swallowing the ladies guards and horses within its fissure.

Bellatrix, who had fallen to her knees in agony, saw the young ladies flight. Two of the Vulcan gave chase: Lucius and Greyback while The Youth stood over the trapped guards.

"Kill the guards! Stop that woman, The One will not tolerate failure!" Bellatrix ordered.

Bellatrix leapt to her feet and raced through the dark forest. Branches whipped at her long dark hair and slapped her face, but she thought nothing of the pain, her only thought of terrible failure. In haste Bellatrix charged up an outcropping slab of granite, she sighted the woman just as she, Bellatrix reached the peek. Without fear Bellatrix leapt off the rock face, plummeted down she smashed shoulder on into the side of the woman with break neck force. Both Bellatrix and the woman crashed to the earth, the horse racing into the darkness, the woman now totally and utterly alone.

But Bellatrix's foe fought with guile. Despite the pain, the force of the fall, Bellatrix's obvious strength, the young lady forced distance between she and the Vulcan commander, hastening to her feet and drew her sword. Bellatrix had lost her sword during their struggle, but the magically crafted blade slithered its way towards its wielder, coiled its way around its master, and came without command to rest once again in Bellatrix's hand.

Bellatrix's living blade formed into a deadly, bladed whip and before her foe Bellatrix cracked the air with her weapon her face a mask of crazed malice and destruction.

"I'll enjoy ruining that pretty face of yours, Granger!" hissed Bellatrix. Hermione Granger straightened her poise, just as Lucius and Greyback entered the standoff. Granger's eyes drifted from one Vulcan to the other. Her hand came to rest upon the Grace nestled protectively against herself inside her holster. She swallowed and reached for the crystal, the Grace in its un-fused form.

Bellatrix screamed and thrust the living sword towards Granger. Hermione slammed the crystal to mother earth. There was a defining crack, the spiritual burst of apparition, the sword-whip struck Granger. Hermione gasped, the extended sword impaling her as forceful as a lance strike. Blood welled from the wound, Hermione fell to her knees, her sword falling from her hands as the physical exhaustion of her magic usage drained her. She collapsed, wounded, defeated. Her only comfort the thought that the Grace, the prize, the hope of al Westernes had not fallen into the hands of The Vulcan.

Bellatrix spat. Striding over to Granger, disgust eminent in her face, she kicked the woman over to face her. Granger lay ragged and bleeding, her breathing shallow and laboured.

Bellatrix's weapon recoiled itself from Hermione to convolute lovingly around it master once more. But Bellatrix could see that the other, the Soul of Light had vanished. In fury Bellatrix wheeled. Her fist crashed into Fenrir Greyback, breaking his mouth and knocking him off his feet. Bellatrix hissed the order. Granger was bound, her weapons gathered, and with many a curse Greyback, on shaky legs, carried their prisoner into the shadows.


	2. Fate's Gift

_**Fates Gift**_

The Great Hall of Ursir rang with revelry and great feastings, the air hazy with smoke from roasting pits and fragrant with the scents of rich fare and fresh baked loaves. Stationed at the High Table, Harry James Potter allowed himself a smile, himself engaging in a rather more pleasurable form or entertainment. Harry knew that his actions were not proper, nor prim for one of his station. Yet still, there was something about the serving maid of which caught his eye. Maybe it was the soft gold of her hair, itself as sleek and beautiful to strike envy into the souls of any Highborn. Her hair rippled down her back in a spray of shimmering, burnished thread, drawing attention to the gentle sway of her posterior as she walked. Harry watched her work- a stiff slap about his cranium rocked away the day dream.

"You are betrothed!" his mother, Lady Lily Potter spoke in a short, shallow hiss. Lady Lily Potter, supreme head of Lord Arthur Weasley's Diplomatic Service, was a consummate loyalist. Harry, as first, and the only child born to she and husband, Ser James Potter, First Knight of Ursir, had been bestowed the grand honour of uniting the families of Potter to the Lord Line of Weasley. Harry's hand belonged to Ginevra Molly Weasley, first born daughter of Lord and Lady Weasley. Truly his wandering eyes would be seen as a great insult to any member of his future High Born family. His future loyalty would become questionable and with that so too the loyalty of his entire line.

Harry swallowed and turned his head down to his plate of rich food. The remembrance that his future was not even his own to command sickened the young man. At sixteen he neared the age of when he was soon to wed into the line of Weasley, Harry hated the thought. It wasn't that Young Lady Weasley was unpleasant to the eye. She was fair of face, and every sense a true lady of privilege. But unlike Harry, First daughter Weasley took reverence in her station. Harry himself had always tried, much to the groans and verbal lashings of his mother, tried to mingle with those of less station, treating them not as beneath himself, but as equals. First daughter Weasley failed to share such a sense of equivalence.

"Chin up lad," barked a gruff, not unkind voice, and Harry turned beaming to see his favourite person, his Godfather, though Harry always referred to him as Uncle, Sirius Black. "James feel like taking the boy on a wander?"

Ser James Potter broke away from his conversation down the high table to gaze at Sirius.

"Tied up, you go, perhaps you can brighten the lad," said James looking down the table at his son. Harry couldn't help but sense an air of disappointment from his parents.

"Come on lad," chuckled Sirius patting Harry on the shoulder. "You need air."

"Go with guards." protested Lily, her tone one of utter concern.

"He's with me." stated Sirius. To emphasise his words the warrior threw back his thick grey cloak to revel the leather bound hilt of the plain broadsword belted at his side. Harry smiled as together both Godson and Godfather left the dining hall for the comfort of the night.

The citadel of Ursir had grown, stone by stone, from a generation of families, conflicts, bloodshed and usurpations, until now it stood grand and commanding, as the eastern seaport of the sea of Valen.

"Do not be ashamed of desire," Sirius spoke with a hearty chuckle as he lead Harry down the stone causeway out towards the north of the main section of the city. "That little serving maid is more than pleasing to observe."

Harry's visage grew downcast as he glanced up at his godfather.

"I am betrothed," Harry reminded Sirius his tone dejected. "It would be a great insult to both my future bride and the High Born line of Weasley if they knew that my eyes wandered."

"Go to the crows with ya Weasley's," spat Sirius, Harry shuddered at the terrible insult. "Do they not think that Lord Arthur Weasley doesn't have wandering eyes?"

"He doesn't does he?" questioned Harry curiosity pricked. Sirius snorted derisively.

"Does he ever, or I'm a joggler," Sirius issued a bark of laughter. "He can be seen every high rise watching the women swim in the river down from the battlements. You should come up on high rise with me, young Harry. You shall witness sights to corrupt that gentle soul of yours."

Harry's grin grew wolfish though there was no hiding the gentle touch of colour to his cheeks. Gruffly, good-naturedly Sirius patted his godson on the back and led him out of the main citadel and onto the roads of the city. It was not to the coast that Sirius and Harry ventured, but north, to the Highwood of Aron and its natural grandeur of redwood trees and pearlescent river. Harry always found peace here. The sound of the river gently flowing across a bed of purifying stones and the spicy scent of nature were among his greatest companions.

Here, as was the custom in all great houses, the Highwood was a place of peace and of self reflection. Yet this night it held something so much more.

"Got a surprise for you boy." Stated Sirius winking slyly at his Godson who drew up straight with anticipation.

"Yes?" questioned Harry attempting to keep eagerness out of his voice. Sirius eyed him modestly. Sirius, Harry knew, was generous in his gifts and kind in his treatment of Harry, always surprising him with something or some trinket, much to the dismay of his mother who found Sirius' gifts far too gruff and common for her over-privileged offspring. Sirius had always stated that he came from nothing and he would die with nothing refusing to forget the world from which he once came. A world Harry had often questioned him about, but a world of which Sirius refused to speak of.

"Go check inside the trunk of the hollow-wood. That is, so long as no one has found it already and carried it off."

Harry hastened towards the willowed yet still living old oak which, at the base, a cavity had opened inside the trunk of the tree inside which the vicinity was large enough for both a young man and a burly adult to sit in cosy comfort.

Harry gasped when he saw what stood propped up inside. Drawing back, clutching the object gingerly in his hands Harry turned towards Sirius in shock and delight.

"Uncle Sirius! This is?"

"Your first sword," stated Sirius proudly striding over to Harry to place a strong hand upon his shoulder. "It should be your father who presents such an honour to you. But I know James does not wish you to become a warrior. But I know what lies in your heart, we've talked often enough and I feel the time is right for you to learn how to master the blade."

"Me?" Harry gasped looking down at the sword with utter joy. The sword was simple and unadorned. A rounded steel pommel weighted the weapon and provided the balance for a smooth, double edged blade. The grip was leather bound, much like Sirius' broadsword, to provide comfort and for sure grasp. Harry loved the weapon more so than he ever felt he could ever love Ginevra Weasley and he gripped the weapon firm and stood straight.

Sirius eyed Harry's stance, is grip upon the shaft almost perfect, his stance to almost faultless. He sensed good things and smiled at his godson.

"Are you ready, young Harry?" Harry turned to face Sirius, his new sword primed and ready. Sirius threw back his cloak to free his arms for battle, unveiling the huge, mighty weapon he wielded. Slowly Sirius drew the blade from its sheaf. The draw was slight and ominous, Harry even felt unease creep into his gut at the level of skill Sirius had with such a weapon.

Sirius' stance was slight and open, his sword held low facing the earth. Harry's energised his weight up on the balls of his feet, his sword held up facing his Godfather. Their eyes met. Sirius could see the excitement in Harry's eyes, the hunger, yet he saw no fear. That was troubling. Harry lunged and-

A blast of fiery wind and streams of light raced through the air. Knocking both duellists to the earth as the whole glen shook with the force of the explosion. Harry was the first to move, His fingers found his sword, his ears ringing like church bells as he blinked, his bearings in shambles. Sirius crawled over to Harry, grasped him, felt him over for injuries, Harry protested, embarrassed, but Sirius did not relent.

When at last Sirius was confident that Harry was alright both turned their attention to the glen. There, twenty paces away from them rested a deep blast radius, the land around it chard and broken. With caution Harry and Sirius approached on their hands and knees. Resting amidst the chaos was a fine pearlescent crystal. Harry gasped, gazed at Sirius who looked troubled and approached the stone. The crystal omitted no heat, did not react when Sirius tapped it with the stud of his boot, so gingerly, he picked up the beautiful rock.

"What is it?" asked Harry slipping down the shallow well to gaze at the rock in Sirius' hand.

"Something we should be weary of." stated Sirius thoughtfully.

"What does it?" Harry reached out to touch the stone.

"Harry don't!" but Sirius was too late. Harry's fingertip brushed the edge of the cold, gleaming stone. The crystal burst into a shattering of white light. Harry screamed, Sirius threw back his head and closed his eyes unable to bare the intensity of the light. The crystal omitting a vast aura trembling in Sirius' hands.

It vanished as quickly as it came. The burden in Sirius' hands grew to nothingness, and the light dampened and died. When finally Sirius opened his eyes, his heart stalled in his chest. Harry lay motionless, unconscious, yet to Sirius' utter relief. Still alive.

Harry's godfather rushed to his fallen godson, felt for a heartbeat. Felt it shallow, his breathing erratic. He wasted no more time. Lifting Harry into his arms, Sirius could think of only one person who could help Harry. Sirius prayed that he could as he ran.

.

Deep inside the depths of the realm of Strathshen, outpost of The Vulcan, Hermione Granger refused to scream. Bellatrix Black stood before her beauteous captive, refusing to destroy such god given delights as Hermione's earthly beauty; it was her spirit she longed to break.

Hermione gasped for breath, her nude body hanging limp in the shackles which hung from the ceiling. Bellatrix circled Hermione, observing every curve, every swell of Hermione's womanly body.

"You are a fine specimen of a woman," stated Bellatrix, standing before her captive, a deadly light brightening her eye.

"I… try." Mocked Hermione smiling roguishly at Bellatrix. The smile enraged Hermione's tormentor as Bellatrix rushed at her prisoner, grasping her captive's beautiful face in a vicious grip and forcing her to look her straight in the eyes.

"You smile now," Bellatrix hissed in manic fury. "But I will break you; I always break my play things."

It was a brave, and foolish display of defiance: with all the strength she could muster, Hermione spat a mouthful of blood and spit in Bellatrix's face. Bellatrix drew back, outraged, disgusted.

"Filth, Order Scum," She thrust her hand at Hermione, speaking the words of Hermione's fate. "Crucio!"

Bellatrix cackled, as this time, Hermione screamed.


	3. Dragon Born

_**Dragon Born**_

High upon the northern sky of Westenra, where God's Seat stood upon the summit of the world, where the ice wind swept across vast plains, chilled from the endless expanse known as the Realms of Eternal Ice, then did the early dawn day sun arise. Draco, True Born son of Lucius and Narcissa of the Line of Malfoy, gazed out across the decorative causeway of Strathshen Keep. The causeway, decorated with a fine, colourful mosaic, itself wrought with a thousand chips and tiles of polished glass, stone and amber, depicted the fabled fall of Linorden. Wind carried, biting and thick with bitter chill, across the vast atrium, cutting through the thickness of his leathers. Neither did Draco flinch, nor seek not the warmth of his chambers. His blood was that of the ancient people, his line one of purity and pride.

"_Our blood is that of the Dragon_." Draco's lord father would boast, his tone wrought with distinction, speaking of the days when the ancient line of Malfoy had held a place of honour amongst the land of Westenra. Their decent into the dregs of society had been long, slow and painful, though his lord father had never relinquished the hope that one day the name of Malfoy would hold a place of honour once again.

Draco knew of the fowl names whispered of his father when he passed, words which brought a lance of shame and anger to the young boys heart. In the dawning of the new age, the mad Dragonlord of Sonata, Abraxas Malfoy, had ordered the death of his only son, Lucius, as a sign of devotion and servitude to his own, alien gods. His queen, Lady Shawana, horrified by such terrible notions, had spirited her only son away from Sonata, away from Abraxas' mad dangers with nothing but her captain of guard and two swift footed stallions.

Alone, drifting fearfully from town to town, Lucius had been raised on the knowledge of his father's mad ideals and told of his terrible blood plot. Shawana filled her child's heart with a sickening, black hatred. Lucius had lived for the moment when he could avenge the blood plot raised against him, and avenge himself he had. When the child had grown, strong, fit and heartfelt with fury, Lucius had joined with the forces of The One. With the force of ten thousand strong he had lead the charge towards the final northern state which rested as resistance to his new lord's rule: Sonata.

His father had been old and sickly when Lucius had found him. The Maester who had been tending Abraxas recognised Lucius the moment he entered the chamber, so much did he bare a resemblance to the father he hated. Almost as if the decrepit wreck of a person had sensed the coming of his own, Abraxas had turned his sickly gaze towards his son, and there was a plea in those ancient eyes. Lucius struck swiftly and without mercy. Though forever tainted with the whispers, '_Kinslayer_,' they would hiss, as they once would have labelled his father.

Down amidst the early morning rays, Macnair, Strathshen's Headsman, cleansed the Ironwood stump of horror in preparation of his next kill. Draco knew of the soul, knew of them because it had been Draco's sworn duty to tend the needs of the prisoner in preparation for their final moments. Draco could still remember it. The icy gaze, the callous demeanour, this one felt no fear of the headsman, themselves willing to die for the cause of which they believed. A gentle knock disturbed his thoughts.

Speaking in salutation, Draco turned to sight a servant girl enter. Her collar was of steel and her ankles had been shackled with thick chains to prevent possible escape. The chains issued a faint, shimmering aura, signalling the presence of magic, themselves secured not only by physical, but supernatural means.

"High One," the servant girl bowed low, her restraints sounded as she did. "High Lady Bellatrix wishes all present for the execution of the prisoner."

"Truly?" questioned Draco, the servant girl swallowed, unwilling to offer contradiction, though also fearing the wrath of High Lady Bellatrix.

"Truly, sir, your presence is required." Draco hissed low, dark, ominous within his throat. He ordered the girl away, made to turn back to the window. Glancing down onto the square Draco suppressed his distaste. What was he to do? An order had been given, duty bound him to obey, yet still he failed to find pleasure in the sight of death. Knowing of the shame he would bring to himself, and his line if he were to refuse, Draco donned his simple cloak, and swept from his chambers.

.

"What in the seven hells has happened, Sirius?" gasped Ethan Smethwyck as the broad warrior forced himself into his home. Such an intrusion could be forgiven however, for Sirius, the young man could see, was nearing the edge of panic. For in his arms lay the unconscious body of his Godson: Young Harry James Potter.

"Please Ethan, help him!" Sirius pleaded with the young healer and scholar, the agony and fear he felt paramount. Smethwyck nodded and lead Sirius down the corridor of his fine home and into an adjoining room where a spare bed chamber rested. Sirius wasted no time and hastily, yet gently laid the young man upon the bed though refused to leave the side of his godson.

"What happened to the boy?" questioned Smethwyck of Sirius. Sirius calmly related all that had happened leading up to Harry's current state, including the strange appearance of the white crystal in the Highwood of Aron. Ethan listened without interruption; slowly he kneeled beside Harry to draw back sleeves of the boy's fine tunic.

Sirius gasped in shock at what was unveiled: emblazoned upon the flesh of Harry's right arm was a bright, white glyph. It rippled and flowed like living water upon his skin. Ethan Smethwyck gazed up at Sirius a bright smile crossing his lips.

"He has been chosen," stated Smethwyck. Sirius swallowed and kneeled down beside the boy.

"Will he…?"

"His body is in shock. This is very common when one is chosen by a Grace. Be proud Sirius, your Godson holds great power."

"He's just a boy," stated Sirius in concern. Fearing the effects of such power Smethwyck spoke of and what they held for one such as Harry. "He is barely a man and is yet to master the blade, how is he to control these powers you speak of."

He gazed towards Harry, concern and aguish fresh in his heart as he sort to understand the fate of his Godson. Slowly, gently Sirius lifted the young man into his arms. The boy felt so dainty, so fragile, what was he, Sirius to tell Lily?

.

Draco's breath caught in his throat. Before the Ironwood plank so was dragged the prisoner, visage once so proud and stern now wrought with fear and terror. Desperately he fought against the combined strength of Lucius, The Beast and The Youth, themselves forcing him towards the death station and towards his fate. But it was to the sight of the second prisoner, the gaze and visage of the chestnut haired, beauteous female which brought a chill to his once heated blood.

The woman, Granger as she was known, gazed upon the fate of her fellow prisoner with cold indifference. She neither flinched, wept, nor offered words of comfort. Instead she continued to gaze absently upon her fellow almost with the same gaze one offers the casual glances upon merchant stools. The man, fighting with the last of his guile, was forced to kneel; his head forced theatrically slow upon the executioners stump. Bellatrix gazed at Granger with fury in her eyes.

"Would you be so cold?" hissed Bellatrix, almost mockingly as Granger stood straight backed, her wrists bound with course rope behind her back. "Would you let him die for your secret?"

Granger stood silent, drew herself up proudly forced herself to look cold and emplaced towards the executioners station. She remained still, quiet, sullen; Macnair slowly climbed the stairs leading towards the station, in his hand her carried the Great Corxvern Axe. Amis, or so was the title of the weapon. The blade had been forged using the ancient craft of Era'ix. Magic had been melding into the great Sky Steel, the blade as sharp as the first day of its forging, itself as old as the realm.

Macnair lifted the Corxvern Axe high, ready for the final strike. Draco's eyes were upon Granger. Her eyes rested upon her fellow prisoner, and with the falling of the axe she did not look away.


	4. Layers Of Harmony

_**Layers Of Harmony**_

The halls of Strathshen keep issued with the terrible screams of anguish. The torture, or of what Bellatrix so intimately labelled: the Passion, of her playthings, held no limits. Bellatrix's level of sadistic force hinged on a number of unstable circumstances, these of which could fluctuate with just the slightest change of mood. Hermione Granger's screams echoed off the cold stone walls of her cell, the chamber's only illumination coming from the light of smoky torches hung from brackets upon the walls.

Bellatrix attacked her prisoner without mercy. She was beyond reason now. Driven into a frenzy of rage enforced by fury and frustration. Mercilessly Bellatrix forced the terrible power of the torture curse upon Granger, inflicting the deepest of anguish, a most terrible of sorrows, her heart black with sadistic malice and pleasure at her cried. She would break her, Bellatrix was certain, she would break, they all break.

Bellatrix saw it, the faint signs of willowing consciousness ebbing upon Granger, the body's own natural defence as it seeks to escape the agony. Bellatrix slowly relented in her torture, unwilling to allow her prisoner the sense of peace she so coveted, the tranquillity of the abyss.

Hermione collapsed brokenly in her bonds when at last of agony was lifted, only the chains bound to her wrists keeping her from failing completely. She shackles chafed her wrists, drew crimson tears to weep upon her grime strewn flesh. Hermione's legs willowed beneath her, too weak to support her frame. But slowly, almost tauntingly, Granger raised her head from towards the earth and looked directly into Bellatrix's eyes.

Bellatrix felt it as she gazed at Hermione, herself hiding her disbelief. The tears, the agony in Granger's face was as clear to read. Yet still, those eyes, those shockingly beautiful eyes. They still burned with a fire of resilience which refused to die. She felt it again. No it couldn't be possible, she, Bellatrix Black felt… fear!

"_All great things must fall._" Whispered the comforting voice of her Grace, driving away the fear and filling her with renewed valour. Bellatrix breathed, beating down the unthinkable emotion and sauntered up to her captive. Hermione's tormentor gripped her face forcefully with her un-fused hand. Forced her prisoner to look at none but her.

"Your strength will not sustain you, pretty girl," Cooed Bellatrix in a mock loving tone. "You shall see I will break you."

Then, to Hermione's utter shock, Bellatrix kissed her forcefully on the lips. Bellatrix broke the kiss with a snarl, before stepping from Hermione's cell, leaving Granger weak, agonised and alone.

.

James Potter drew in behind his dear wife and placed a comforting upon her shoulder. She had wept long, kept an ever watchful visual at the bedside of their dearest son. Now, fatigue, tiredness and heartache all were beginning to unite upon his dearest and he knew that she must find rest of risk herself falling prey to some much greater illness.

"Come, my lady," James spoke firmly, firm but not without tenderness. Lily turned in her seat beside her son. Her eyes, once a stark, vivid jade, now sore with tears and tiredness. Softly James caressed her cheek, his touch tender though tainted by the coarseness of with his battle worn hand. "You have seen enough, you must rest."

"He is my son," Lily protested, her voice coming in a pained, agonising moan. "I can not leave him alone."

"He will not be alone." A lone voice spoke from the shadows, Lily knew who had spoken and his words brought neither comfort nor warmth to her pain.

"This is your fault Sirius!" Lily spat her words laced with venom. "He was of your care, now my child lays tainted, dying."

"Do you believe I-"

"This is no place for harsh words," James spoke between the two, his words rich with wisdom. "My lady, you can scarcely keep arise within your seat. Sirius would never bring about intentional harm to our son. Please, let him stand watch, my lady you must rest."

Lily's eyes turned back to the form of her son, where he had lay unmoving for three days since his union with The Grace. Upon the once innocent flesh of his right arm the symbol of The Grace shimmered with a soft white light. Hesitantly Harry's mother relented and drew herself up from her seat beside her son.

James drew her into his arms; tenderly he caressed her crimson locks as he felt her release gentle tears. He knew he need comfort her, knew how deeply Harry's ascension was affecting his wife. James gazed from Lily to Sirius who had come to draw his seat at the foot of the boy's bedside.

"Watch over him, friend?" James requested of Sirius. Black nodded, haltingly all departed he chamber leaving the warrior alone by his Godson's side. Lily turned gazing poignant at the ornate seal of the room.

"My son..." Lily choked her voice breaking with anguish as she stood trembling before Harry's door. "My son is tainted."

"Do not speak as such," James spoke quietly, wrapping his strong arms around Lily. "He has been blessed, not tainted."

"How can...?" Lily snapped, her voice cracked with pain and fury. "How can you say as such? The Grace's are property of The One. He created them, he controls them. Our son is destined to serve at his side."

Tears of agony and anguish streamed from Lily's eyes as James drew her dear to him. He knew not what to say to comfort her, knew her words held more than just a glimmer of truth. Little was he to know that upon the ornate balcony of the south station, Lord Arthur Weasley was taking council to discuss the very same fate of the Potter's only child.

"It is the will of the Gods," said Arthur gently striding towards the fine edge of the balcony to look out upon the grandeur of the city of which he ruled. "Everything is in their hands."

"Father think with logic," spoke Percy Weasley, Arthur's son and advisor. Percy stepped up beside his father to gaze out upon the beauty of Ursir. "The Grace's belong to The One. We know not if young Potter is already enthralled to his rule. Also, even if he is not, The One shall come for what is his. We can not fight both The Vulcan and the forces of The Reign."

"Enemies have been attacking us for centuries, our walls still stand." Spoke Arthur passionately, Percy issued a sigh and turned to gaze imploringly at his lord Father.

"Father, we can not win this war!" issued Percy's impassioned plea. Arthur gazed at his third son, saw the pain and fear in the diplomat's eyes. Softy he reached out and tweaked his sons crimson locks.

"Things seem so easy when you are young," Spoke Arthur gently, "But when you are a lord things are rarely simple. I love my city, every grain of sand, every blade of grass. This is how I know; the Potter's love their son. I shall not destroy such love by ordering the boy exile. Harry's fate lies with his parents."

Percy, face solemn and humbled tuned back towards the city. Gazing up towards the heavens, the sky dark and flecked with stars, the Lord Weasley's Son issued a silent prayer to The Gods knowing soon the wind would bring wolf-ships of The One ever onward towards their city. Young Weasley could only hope that the Gods watched over them.


	5. Gaze Of The One

_**Gaze Of The One**_

Atop the battlements of Strathshen keep there signalled the call of silver trumpets orchestrating the arrival of privileged guests. Upon top-most towers, lowered in acquiescence and respect, once flew the jade and silver colours of The Vulcan. Now in their stead so began to climb the grand the mazarine blue and black banners of The One.

"Straighten yourself!" Draco's Lord Father hissed scoldingly. Lucius Malfoy stood, draped in garb of rich velvet beneath the fine, well treated drape of his black mail. Emblazoned upon his chest there shone the Dragon of house Malfoy. Softly, almost lovingly, Lucius reach up and caressed the fine, inlayed gold and jewelled eyes of the sigil. He, Lucius displayed to sense of shame, nor temper as behind him both he and Draco endured the jeers and jests issued towards them from The Beast. Although, despite the rigor enforced within him, Draco could see that the words injured his Lord Fathers pride as deeply as they did his own.

"Filthy animal!" Lucius spat in a hiss so low that Draco could scarcely hear. Lucius refused to glance back, kept his gaze forever forward. Draco swallowed in tremulous apprehension. He could sense the anger welling deep within his father. Listened to Greyback's jeers and mocking spite. Lucius' hand came to rest upon the pommel of his rapier, his clear grey eyes growing shaded with fury as he fought to hold down his temper. Draco's Lord Father gazed towards his offspring. At sixteen Draco neared the age of manhood. He, Draco, stood at his fathers right hand, offered him a comforting gaze.

"Feeble, boy loving youth," hissed Greyback under his breath. "Reckon he will never take a life, to busy at pleasure with the stable boys."

At Greyback's final curse Lucius drew his weapon and whirled, so swift were his actions that the werewolf failed to react. The weeping blade pressed tight to The Beasts exposed throat. Greyback growled low in his throat, his fangs extended, his fingernails growing sharp and battle hardened.

"Insult my brood," hissed Lucius dangerously his rapier pressed tight to the throat of The Beast. "Insult the line of Malfoy once more, animal, and the crows shall fest on tainted blood."

"Many have tried to kill me Malfoy," hiss Greyback assertively his eyes wrought with challenge. "Think you can succeed where they have not?"

Lucius' visage grew wrought with fury, then, with the tip of his rapier he scratched a sharp '_M'_ into the delicate flesh of Greyback's neck.

"For the line of Malfoy." Lucius spoke with regal distain. Greyback hissed and drew away, clutching at the cut where blood stained his grim strewn hand.

All retaliation, all animosity drew aside as the silver trumpets sounded once more and the vast gates of Strathshen were opened.

At the first sight of The One all drew too their knees in adoration and respect. Tall, imposing, ominous, he entered upon a huge black war horse draped in garb as dark as shadow. He rode without escort, which at these dangerous times marked him as one of three things: a fool, dwarf, or extremely powerful. Draco could quite plainly see that the stature of dwarf did not suit, nor would he ever think to insult The One by labelling him foolish. At his back there was slung his weapon, a huge, due bladed battleaxe so vast that it looked to take almost giants strength to wield.

The most frightening form of The One was his visage. Obscured by a mask of horror: A mask fashioned from the skull of a human with eyes of depthless black. Draco shuddered drawing his gaze away from the chill fathomless depths of his gaze. The One approached upon his towering destrier. The horse steered towards Lucius, so close that the great steel hoof nearly came bearing down upon Lord Malfoy.

"Where is my Bella?" hissed The One his voice a chill, throaty growl. Lucius glanced up to gaze upon The One.

"My Lord…" His voice cracked like a boys as he addressed him so. "She is detained in the dungeons. She will not relent until she has broken her prisoner."

"I see." The One need not snap the reins of his horse, instead the destrier drew forward without command as the gathered hastened to part. Draco's eyes followed him as he bared towards the Keep. Inside the young Malfoy felt for Miss Granger. Silently he offered her a prayer, not knowing if any could protect her from he who approached.

Hermione Granger cackled a scream of triumphant laughter. Bellatrix Black collapsed back upon the wall before Granger, physically, emotionally exhausted. Hermione struggled wildly against her bonds, so much so that the coarse iron shackles began to tear into the flesh of her wrists.

Bellatrix could hide it not. Hermione had seen it, the fear in her eyes, the unacceptable breaking in her voice at Granger's incredible strength. All had united to fill her prisoner with a renewed sense of courage, fuelled her desire for freedom.

Bellatrix had failed.

Disgust welled up inside Bellatrix, a deep, carnal self-loathing. She could not fail her master, such a thought was unthinkable. No matter how strong Granger mite be she Bellatrix must grow stronger. Such weakness was unacceptable. Straightening herself Bellatrix drew upon the power of her Grace, advanced upon Granger prepared to inflect more horror upon- Bellatrix retreated in shock: Granger, Bellatrix's prisoner had dared attempt rebel, teeth bared in attack. How could she dare? The insolence! The outrage which followed such an act was met but a sickening sense of fear. What was she to do to break such resolve?

"I see we have a wildling." hissed an intense, mocking voice from beyond the shadows. Bellatrix turned and fell to her knees at the presence of The One. Hermione, once so vibrant, felt her heart plunge into a tarn of terror. The One approached Bellatrix who kissed his outstretched hand in a display of reverence.

"Rise Bell." spoke The One. Bellatrix obeyed, rising to her full height face wrought with veneration.

"Master," Bellatrix said. "I apologise for not being there to greet your arrival. I have been detained."

"With the Grace Bearer I see."

The One turned to face Hermione. With steely resolve she gazed upon him, avoiding the depths of his soulless eyes.

"Do you fear me, young lady?" questioned him of Granger. Hermione drew herself up in her bonds, speaking with poise.

"One would be foolish not to fear you."

He approached the prisoner slowly, himself not even acknowledging the carnal delights of her naked charms. He cupped her face with a strong hand, forced Hermione to look into the depths of his eyes.

"This is very wise." The One's voice was soft, almost musical in its charm. "You and your Order members stole something extremely valuable of mine. I would like it returned."

"Never!" hissed Hermione her tone one of absolute defiance.

"Very well." Hermione gasped as the force of legitimacy smashed though her internal defences. A stream of memories issued before her eyes, like flickers of film caught upon a projector. Slowly the memories centred upon a single memory: The night of Hermione's ambush. Within, Hermione forced herself to defend that memory. Building, reinforcing walls of defence, but with fury and force so did The One smash through such defences, stealing tendrils of through, viewing moments of memory.

Slowly The One withdrew himself from her mind, leaving Hermione exhausted, limp and broken in her bonds.

Hermione's heart plummeted with despair. Inside she knew he had found what he coveted, knew she had failed in her duties to protect the Soul of Light. Slowly The One turned to Bellatrix. He hissed a single word.

"Ursir!"


	6. Divine Council

_**Divine Council**_

Bellatrix Black closed her eyes, herself content in the presence and cadence of the Azan while it fed the flow of the Offspring on its journey towards northern bay of The Gulf. Beneath her the falls blanketed the lagoon below with its mighty flow. Stationed upon a moist slate outcropping, Bellatrix allowed the sense of nature and the feel of Earth Mother to cleanse her, heart, body, soul.

The wind issued though vast evergreens laden with the fragrance of pine needles and wild flowers. She sighed deep, no other, not even Greyback and all his wild instincts dare trek this close to the mountain face known as Gods Seat, where it was believed the twelve ancient Gods still existed and governed the fates of lesser mortals. Bellatrix believed in the stories, she believed for reasons she did not share, but reasons of her own. Gods Seat held no fear for her, she was welcome amidst the presence of the Gods and her prayers, though not always answered, she knew, were always heard.

Bellatrix slowly raised herself to her feet, kept her eyes closed. She knew the falls perfectly, intimately, so often had she visited these clashing waters to seek peace and salvation when her soul grew troubled. She breathed deep, her breasts heaved and fell with the intensity of her breathing. Slowly she spread her arms wide like the wings of the eagle of her line. Readying herself upon the balls of her feet, Bellatrix took in one final draft of air, laden once again with forest perfume and thick with spray. With courage she smiled, and threw herself off into empty air.

The rush of sweeping water whipped past her face, alive with spray and slashed with speed. Her hair billowed out behind her as she fell like a great mantle of office. Bellatrix dived without fear, her blood spiked with a high only found when faced with the prospect of death. But Bellatrix found no death, nor did she seek it. She thrust out her hands before her, flattened and straight. She hit the icy water hard, with all the grace and skill of a Games diver. So smooth, so perfect was her entry that the pool hardly rippled.

The water coiled lovingly around her, recognising her as one of its own, herself born under the sign of Water. Slowly, gently Bellatrix broke the surface where she drew in deep breaths of air. At gentle strokes Bellatrix entered the curtain of water, where, hidden beneath a veil of water and gloomy shadow, rested a shallow grotto. Bellatrix lifted herself up upon the ledge of the grotto, moister seeping from her flesh, her leathers clinging to her person like a clammy second skin. With eloquence she flung back her head, tossing her sodden locks like a spray of deepest midnight. Gathering her hair in bunches Bellatrix began to ring the moisture from her locks, then she smiled when she felt the touch of the Divine once more.

Strong, powerful, foreboding, the presence behind her gathered up handfuls of her sleek, beautifully dark hair, touched her hair was a gentle touch, than softly began to thread the silken locks through strong fingers.

"You have your mother's beauty." Spoke a deep, rich voice, a voice as ancient as it was powerful. A voice wrought with violence and bloodshed.

"Father," Bellatrix sighed turning in her father's endearment to gaze upon his mortal shroud. "My heart is troubled."

"Bellatrix," Ares, High God of War address her formally, gazing at his offspring with his inhumanly blue eyes. "You are of my seed, you hold my strength."

Bellatrix choked on her apprehension, drew herself up proudly, unwilling to allow the shame of her breaking to be seen by her mighty father. Slowly, she gathered her resolve and nodded.

"I am to lead the charge against Ursir."

"My daughter," Ares hissed his tone rich with reverence and blood thirst. "You shall lead the charge. Together we fight, in spirit and presence. The walls of Ursir shall fall. Blood and glory shall be ours."

The mighty war god cupped his daughter's fair face; gently he pressed his lips to her brow. The kiss filled Bellatrix with renewed fury, valour anew surged through her. Bellatrix's heart steeled, her resolve aflame, herself ready to lead The Reign.


	7. Reborn and Compassion

_**Reborn and Compassion**_

Hermione fell, weak, willowed, and drained of all resistance into the outstretched arms of the pale youth before her. Her spirit, her soul, her very being screamed with shame, fury and pain as she sort to conceal the tears which were the sigil of her pain. Slowly, gently supported by the youth, half carried, half dragged from her bonds Hermione was placed upon the coarse wooden board which stationed as her sleeping bench. The youth set her down with all the tenderness of a friend, offered her a show of privacy and respect in the diversion of his gaze away from her nakedness.

Hermione, gazing up through pain tormented eyes, was thankful for these small displays of kindness. Gazing at the young man Hermione could see that he was not much older than her, he could be possibly her own age only the dark shadows which haunted his eyes and the hungered, drawn face made him look so much older.

"Thank you." Hermione breathed lost to any sense of modesty her hope of rescue slowly slipping further and further away the longer she continued to linger suffer behind the walls of Strathshen Keep. The pale young man swallowed, turned, covered her body with the thin blanket he once held in his hand.

"Why do you defy?" questioned the pale browed young man. Hermione gazed up at him; saw upon his leathers that he bore the sigil of the broken line of Malfoy.

"If all lived in servitude rather than stand up and fight, all lines shall be lost." Hermione saw the hurt in the young mans eyes, watched how he caressed the sigil upon his chest.

"What do you know of lost lines?" snapped Draco bitterly. Hermione, weak, agonised, fixed him with a gaze.

"I know that once the Line of Malfoy would never have wallowed in servitude. But weak heirs failed to hold the Dragon Throne, and now the true Kings the Iron Towers wallow while a tyrant sits upon their rightful seat."

The words, she could see, had injured him. She had not intended such, seeking once to speak the truth to the young man. But clearly, the young Malfoy was unwilling, or not ready to believe the truth. Forcefully the young man grasped her wrist and shackled her to the wall leaving her other hand free.

"I will bring you food." He snapped clearly still wounded her words, She closed her eyes in recognition of such. He turned and skulked from the room. Hermione pulled the blanket tighter, within her heart reached out to The Grace. She could only hope that wherever it was, it would be defended.

.

Deep in quiet slumber Harry lay upon the downy mattress of his bed, healers and medics all at a loss at what prolonged his sleep. The truth was Harry knew not how to come back to the world of which he belonged. Deep within the depths of his coma, he, Harry was lost to a world of darkness and confusion. Fear gripped his heart, an intense, rending fear as he struggled through veils of living shadow.

"_Help us! Please, save us!" _issued the cries of voices. Harry turned, darkness shadowing his gaze as he sort to find the source of such agonised cries.

"Who are you?" Harry cried, himself lumbering down a dark passageway, the darkness blinding, the walls slowly melting like mist from his touch. "Sirius! Father!"

Fear gripped Harry. Before him the shadows swirled and formed into towering, hooded figures, faces shadowed, each clad in the ragged depths of dark robes. They glided ominously above the obsidian floor, advanced upon Harry. He drew back, heart lanced with ice, sheer terror filling his soul.

A shaft of light issued from his right hand. It blinded Harry, stalled the advance of the hooded figures. Harry gazed down through the depths of light to sight a rich, ornate sword gripped in his hand. Courage surged through him; Harry gripped the shimmering weapon tight. In an arch he swung the sword; it slid through the hooded figures as easily as blade through mist. But the forms hazed and disappeared in this display of strength and fortitude.

Harry sighed looking down at his weapon, sighting for the first time the bright white glyph which issued its own shimmering light. Softly the voices of the pleading masses continued to sound in his ears. Harry winced at the agony in their tone. Gently Harry's hand came to rest upon the glittering glyph, wishing or someone, anyone who could help him through this darkness. Vaguely the shadows before him parted and from the depths of the shadows there walked a single figure cloaked in a gentle light.

The figure advanced gracefully, walked with distinction and yet contained the acute alertness of the trained warrior. Harry felt no fear from the figure as the person advanced. Harry came to see that the figure was a woman, a woman whose beauty shone with the glory of the Gods. The woman offered Harry a warm, radiant beam to which Harry offered her his own smile.

"Grace Wielder," The woman hair of dark and rippling chestnut tresses, addressed him with distinction. "I sense your fear; I seek your revival, so many wish for your help. You must awaken."

"How am I?" questioned Harry of the woman themselves drawing together. Their hands threaded together. In her touch Harry felt a sense of harmony unfelt in anyone before. He wondered who she was; if she be a dream need never awaken.

"Come, Grace Wielder." Spoke the woman gently. "I shall lead you to your family, to the world that needs you."

"But what of you?" Harry pleaded, her visage grew saddened as she reached up and softly caressed his face.

"I face my own agonies. Fight on, you are so needed." Slowly the woman led Harry towards the column of light. Slowly feeling anew began to return to his body. Engulfed in shimmering luminosity his last glance was towards the woman. A heartfelt wrench of loss filled his heart as slowly, spiritually they were parted. Physically, Harry Potter opened his eyes.


	8. Bellatrix Leads The Vulcan

_**Bellatrix Leads The Vulcan**_

The slumber of his son had lasted more than fourteen moonfalls when James Potter arose with the dawn day sun, to stand at the base of the grand master bed of which he shared with his wife. Slowly, almost ceremonially James fitted to his person the rich steel gauntlets which protected his hands from injury. He tied the leather thongs of the armour fixedly to himself, clenched his fist tight, feeling how the fusion of leather lining and polished steel shielding moved in perfection with his form.

James' wife Lily drew herself behind her husband. The rest, James had seen, had brought about a much desired stem to her grief. Still he missed her smile, knew she would not smile again until Harry was awoken, but when she stepped close behind her husband, it was not the touch of grief, or sorrow which caressed his battle hardened muscles. James allowed himself a smile, knowing of that touch, feeling the tenders, affection, the intimacy laced into her every caress. His heart beat aflutter, in promise, in hope, hope that she had some how stepped beyond the boarders of sorrow, that his words had reached her. He breathed deep at the touch and prayed.

From its station James drew his fine armour away from the simple rack upon which it was dressed. He drew the armour about himself. Lily herself fixed the steel protection of the breastplate to her warrior lover. The scent of treatment oil and polish wafted from the steel. Lily drew in deep the fragrance. She ached with passion, the scent of armour and cleansing herbs as good as any potent aphrodisiac to herself as she admired her love: James Potter, First Knight of Lord Arthur Weasley and Protector of the City of Ursir.

Lily softly pressed her gentle lips to the exposed skin of James' neck. She could feel it, the rising heat, and the spur of passion escalating within her husband. She couldn't see it, but so close were they that Lily knew him to be smiling, smiling at her games, smiling in passion, smiling in contentedness. Lily lifted her husband's sword and scabbard from its station of honour.

James turned to face his wife, she kneeled before the warrior his sword pressed tight to herself. Adoration filled their eyes as gently, handsomely Lily girded the sword to his side. She drew herself up regally. Lily gazed into James' intense hazel eyes, him to filled with such passions. James drew her into his arms. His lips clamed hers, each filled with yearning and love, lost to the world, content in each others embrace.

The door to the Potter's bed chamber slammed open. James Potter wheeled, hand grasped to his sword in rage at such insubordination. But his rage gave over to concern as he sighted Sirius standing in the doorway.

"What is it, friend?" questioned James, but Sirius looked not concerned, but jubilant.

"It is Harry!" Sirius breathed, seeming to have run the length of the way to their chamber. "He has awoken!"

Both James and Lily grew radiant with joy. Together the trio hastening from the room towards Harry's bed chamber.

Harry had barely the time to smile at his parents when his mother drew him into an embrace. So great was her affection that Harry groaned, his ribs straining beneath the force of her endearment. Harry gaze pleadingly over his mothers shoulder at his father and Godfather, obviously seeking assistance. James and Sirius merely laughed, each knew how much Harry's coma had affected Lily. When at last Lily relented James shook his sons hand with fatherly affection.

"You worried us, son." spoke James not unkindly. Harry tried to say something but gasped and clutched his head as if in some terrible agony. Lily turned to James and Sirius obviously concerned but before each could comfort her Harry touched the bright, glittering glyph on his arm.

"What has happened to me?" questioned Harry of his guardians. Each exchanged attentive glances, but it was Sirius who sat down beside Harry and placed an arm around his Godson's shoulders.

"Something both strange and wonderful, I know someone who-"

What words of comfort Sirius was to offer Harry faded at the strident clang of the city bell. James rushed to the window which overlooked the sea of Valen. His fingers gripped the sill in response to what he saw.

"The wolf-ships of The One," James spoke and there was obvious fury in his voice. "They have come for The Grace."

Lily gasped and clutched at her child. Sirius rose and drew his massive broadsword James too drawing his own Longsword. James gazed once more at his wife and child before together, both warrior rushed from the chamber in preparation for combat.

.

Upon the wolf-ship Kyriako Bellatrix Black gazed out from the boat towards the beach of Ursir, her own wolf-ship lengths ahead of the main army, powered by fifty of the fiercest soldiers ever to fill the ranks of The Reign. Beside her, unseen by any except her, their stood her father, himself adorned in black armour, his war helm rich and black, sword drawn, ready for bloodshed. Bellatrix drew courage from the presence of her father, as behind her she turned to face those of whom she commanded.

"Vulcan! Arethor!" Bellatrix cried her words issuing to both the three and her party of warriors. "My brothers of the sword, we have fought together longer than any city dare stand."

Each present crashed their fists against shield or breastplate, issuing a mighty crash of heed.

"Let none forget of the fury we hold inside, of the power we hold, here now and forever we stand without equal." Bellatrix roared followed by a strident battle cry from the rallied warriors. She could feel it, her father infecting her force with his terrible battle lust, fortify resolve. With force Bellatrix cracked her bladed whip in. With the rush of sand before the bow of the ship, Bellatrix's sword reformed as the wolf-ship Kyriako was beached. With grace Bellatrix leapt first from the port of the ship, leading her forces into battle.

The docking of the wolf-ship was met by a storm of arrows from the guardians of the beach. Shafts struck soldiers sending them falling to the sands and surf, Bellatrix and the Vulcan rushed forward, shields raised, forming a four person shield wall. Shafts struck steel, as one they moved, at Bellatrix's command the four exploded onto the gathered guard.

Bellatrix fought with a barbarity almost beautiful to behold. The gathered Ursians had never seen a warrior so fearsome in might and great of skill. With grace she leapt into the air, her body arching to avoid a spear thrust, to bring her living blade down into where the exposed key bone from the neck disjoins the shoulder.

With a flick of her wrist, the sword became a deadly bladed whip, lashing forward living sword thus coiled about the throat of another son of Ursir, the blades severing arteries leaving her foe bleeding at her feet.

In a display of elegance Bellatrix span away from a sword strike, only to lift her dazzling reformed blade at the throat, where the blood flowed as red as summer wine.

From the approaching wolf-ships cries of 'Bellatrix' issued, cheers of admiration for the glory of their champion as mighty Bellatrix spurred The Vulcan forward. So fearsome was found great Bellatrix, fierce in arms, that soon warriors once stout of heart and bold of spirit came to flee and cower like dogs before her mighty fury.

Upon horseback James and Sirius watched in horror at the cold butchery of their brothers. In vehemence James spurred his horse forward charging Bellatrix before leaping down from his mount and drawing his weapon. Cries now issued from the sons of Ursir, the sight of their mightiest warrior galvanising weakened moral as James Potter rushed forward to defend them. Sirius forced his horse forward, his heart lanced with fear as he watched flamboyant James flip his sword with eloquence before charging headlong into the fray.

Three warriors of The Reign rushed James. With dexterity and grace he slashed at the exposed abdomen of one foe, turning to parry the strike of a second, knocking him sideways and off balance. In one movement he turned and slashed aside the third, James' body spinning with the force of his blow, only to bring his sword down to cut at the warriors lightly armoured rear.

Bellatrix beamed at the sight of such obvious legerdemain and stepped up through the chaos to face James in combat. James stood poised, his sword drawn and lifted, Bellatrix's blade, lowered, her body exposed in confidence.

In sudden motion the foes engaged.

With the clang of arms, both Bellatrix and James fell to a volley of blows, swords clashed, each issuing thrust, slash or parry. Bellatrix spun away from a slash from James, to lift her sword to strike at his throat, but it was experience which forced James to leap back in retreat to escape his doom.

Long they fought, long, long, long, until the sun began to western, with much blood shed and many wounds, but neither James nor Bellatrix striking the final blow. Finally, with both fatigued from duelling both mighty James and elegant Bellatrix relented.

"Mighty son of Ursir!" Bellatrix addressed James in kind. "You are truly valiant. Let us end tonight's duel as friends and face each other tomorrow as enemies when the sun is fully raised and our wounds treated."

"You speak with wisdom, great champion of The Reign." Spoke James nobly. "We shall depart as friends, until tomorrow's light."

As such both Bellatrix and James presented gifts to each other in friendship: James his rich gauntlets, Bellatrix a vast quarter of her own length of midnight dark hair.

Together both warriors began to lead their respected forces back from the battleground. James, weak and wounded, stepped up beside Sirius and placed a hand upon his friend's side.

"I... I have a task for you, old friend."


	9. Unexpected Company

_**Unexpected Company**_

"Father I stay!" young Harry protested of his warrior father as he was forcibly ushered along side by side. Harry's protests fell deaf upon James' ear as the Knight led both his young son and Sirius onward into the depths of the citadel of Ursir. Together they left the sanctuary of the distinguished Northern quarter for the harsh and battered wastes of the Southron dwells.

Taking Harry firmly by the arm James led the young man forth. Every few paces or so James would pause, issue a command to Sirius who followed seemingly at rear guard. Together each man would glance about them, observing the thatched cabins, the shadows concealed within the disorderly streets. Satisfied with their findings James guided Harry down a grotty, unsavoury lane. The air reeked with soiled waste, urine and filth. The path was strewn with waste, alive with the presence of fleeing vermin. Harry started at his father's side, the rustle of a shadow, the form of something as large as a cur slinked by before him. He sort not to shame himself before his father, felt a gentle touch upon his shoulder, his father gazing upon him with intense, pained eyes.

From about the waist band tide to his leathers, James pulled a thick mahogany wand, the magical implement once employed by all spellcasters as a means of channelling their powers. Harry knew much about the ways of magic, had studied many of the volumes found within Ursir's vast library. Once the wand had been but the only means of channelling the spiritual energy found within the gifted, the magic itself needed something physical upon which it could rise from the depths of the soul to the physical plains. But now the implement was much considered obsolete, with many magic users trained in the art of form casting.

Harry eyed the wand curiously; James remained silent, offered no explanation. In stepping up to the wall James proceeded to tap stone bricks set into the wall with the tip of the wand: three up, two across. To Harry's astonishment, at the touch of the wand the wall began to melt like liquefying ice, until where once coarse stone had stood, a vast tunnel now opened leading far into darkness. Ancient torches now long extinguished, stood in brackets along beams set in the earthen walls. James turned to his teenage son, clutched at his shoulders, affection evident his face as the warrior struggled with heartbreak at what he must do.

"My son," James spoke, brokenly, brushing back a stray strand of his son's dark hair, marvelling at how striking Harry's resemblance was to himself, except he bore the beauty of his mothers gaze. "You know not the danger you face behind these walls. Our safety may not sustain us, I shall not see you enthralled to The One, you are too precious to me to see your goodness tainted."

Harry choked on tears, seeking to say something, anything to his father but words failed the young man so.

"I..." James choked, seeking to reassure the boy. "I and your mother shall fight for your safety. Fly my dear son, fly, and know peace."

Gently, James leaned forward and kissed his sons brow. Drawing himself away James turned way from Harry and Sirius, seeking to shield from them the true extent of his agony.

"Sirius, protect my son!" ordered James of his friend. Sirius placed a hand upon James' shoulder, James still offing his back to the pair, his warriors pride unwilling to show his pain. Sirius sort to prolong James agonies no longer, and with a slight spur, ushered Harry into the tunnel, themselves slowly consumed by darkness. Harry cast one last glance behind him, but saw that his gallant father now stood embraced in shadow and lost to him, for now.

The tunnel was dark, gloomy and the air thick with the scent of moist earth and decay. Harry pressed the sleeve of his tunic to his mouth to shield himself from the stagnant air. Beams of heavy, thick wood supported the many layers of earth of which rested above them. The tunnel stretched on evermore. Harry had almost given up on ever seeing moonshine or sunrays again, when finally, like the first evening star, a bright shaft of light opened before them. Both Godson and Godfather raced for the light and, with eyes hazy, they broke out unto the cool sweet scent of morning air.

Harry gasped; forcefully Sirius seized the lapels of his tunic and slammed him against the side of the tunnel. Harry grew afraid, but a look from Sirius commanded him to silence. Sirius drew his broadsword, slow and ominous, Harry still pressed tight behind him, his eyes fixed upon the mouth of the tunnel. Harry swallowed, wondering what could have incensed the warrior so. But as if in answer to his question, a lone, hooded figure draped in black, began to climb from the mouth of the tunnel.

Sirius leapt forward. He grasped the stalker vehemently. Forcefully Sirius slammed the hooded figure against the earthen wall of the tunnel. The figure issued a girlish cry of fright; Sirius pressed the edge of his broadsword tight to the figures throat. Sirius ripped off the hood in one vigorous movement. Who was unveiled reeled the two companions with astonishment.

"Ginevra!" barked Sirius at the sight of First Daughter Weasley, herself drawing timidly away from the razor sharp edge of Sirius' blade. "Why have you left the city? Why are you following us?"

"Please!" Ginny pleaded true fear evident in her voice. "Please, I... I overheard Ser James and Lady Lily speaking in conference. You seek to take Harry away from war."

Ginny's voice grew stronger and more confidant as she continued.

"My father seeks to send me away to The Eyrie, to shield me from war. But I seek to fight, Ser Sirius sir; I know you will be teaching Harry the way of the blade. Please, allow me to accompany you on your adventure."

Sirius gave a hearty sniff.

"This is no pleasant adventure on braided ponies, young lady. We shall be travelling hard; the Eyrie is more fitting for a young lady of distinction."

"I don't want distinction!" protested Ginny, Sirius raised his eyebrows as he eyed her curiously. "I want to be a warrior, please Ser Sirius, teach me the way of the blade."

Sirius turned to Harry who shrugged in response, Sirius offered him a playful wink. Sirius let out a bark like laugh and drew away his sword from Ginny's throat.

"Impassioned speech, young lady," complimented Sirius. "You seek to be a warrior? Very well you shall accompany us. Know this though; you leave your rank behind. I will not listen to spoilt mollycoddling or over-privileged whining. You take me as a guardian and together perhaps I shall make warriors out of both of you."

Ginny beamed with happiness as she clutched her hands together. In one smooth motion Ginny lifted the long heavy robes off of her person, to expose flamboyant battle armour. Her breastplate, seemingly fashioned from rich gold rather than hardy steel, accentuated her small, perky breasts, while a skirt of gold and leather strips, fanned out to expose glimpses of strong, well-formed thighs.

Sirius eyed Harry, who had blushed scarlet at the sight of such obvious allure, offering him a sly wink, Sirius eyed Ginny quizzically. Ginny looked abashed and offered a gaze at her flamboyant armour.

"Was the only armour I possessed." stated Ginny, Sirius chuckled darkly.

"We shall have to see of obtaining you some rather less, _alluring_ attire, you are most certainly going to attract the wrong kind of attention garbed as such."

Ginny swallowed and picked up her quiver and recurve bow, which she had been carrying, the items dropped when Sirius had seized her. Timidly Ginny handed the weapon to the warrior who studied the weapon closely. He drew back the cord, examined the strength of the stock. Satisfied he nodded and handed the bow back to Ginny.

"How proficient are you with that weapon?" questioned Sirius of Ginny, who drew herself up proudly.

"As proficient as needed." Sirius snorted, leaving judgment to his own opinion. Openly, he coiled his arms around the two youths and drew them close. Together the youths drew in their first glances of the valleys of Western Adaleel.

"We shall head for the region of Etyel;" Sirius said, gesturing out to the vast expanse before them. "There we shall meet up with a companion of mine. She will whip you two into shape."

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances, together each stepped forward, away from family, away from privilege, away from titles, and out into the vast, unknown grasp of the world.


	10. Hall Of Heroes

_**Hall Of Heroes**_

The company kept to stone paved roads and silk routes amidst the glens and dells of Adaleel. Sirius explained that these routes, one the stoned and well maintained route went by the title '_The Wingroad._' First paved in the rise of the Imperial Shaual, the Wingroad was built as a means of uniting all seven of the great Kingdoms of Westenra to the Imperial capital of Shaual, as a means of increasing trade and prosperity. Also this allowed the imperial legions effortless travel in their means to crush rebellion within any of the great Kingdoms. However such proved both the greatest strength and also the demise of Imperial rule. For, with the turning of the banners, attacking forces need only follow the Wingroad to lay siege to the imperial capital.

Harry chuckled at the story as they travelled. The silk routes were of a differing nature. These roads were not paved in beautiful cobble stone, or lovingly maintained, though the lack of vegetation upon their hard, wheel and trek worn routes, proclaimed that they were in efficient use. These routes, were winding and uncouth, seemingly etched into the earth through hard travel and without planed guidance. They stretched far across the glens, like a deep, worn wound upon the beauty of the wilderness.

When at last the sun began to western and the party had travelled many hours of long trek, Sirius shouldered off the large supply sack of which he carried. The sack he propped up against the trunk of a living tree amidst pine forest cluster, together the party rolled out blankets and began to make camp.

With tinder found from the bark of an ancient birch tree, Sirius instructed the youths in the correct way on which to set up a safe station. Soon each were huddled around a fine, warm fire. Ginny looked bashfully as Sirius and Harry as they began to prepare the supplies and stock. She herself had failed to provide such provisions. But in kindness both her companions offered the young lady half's of their own stock, unwilling to see their travel mate go hungry.

Sirius instructed the two cultured youths on the necessity of rationing their supplies. They ate together; both youths filled with many a question for their guide. Sirius relished the quizzing of his companions with each soon coming to realise that Sirius was far wiser in ways of the wild than should be relevant for a warrior of distinction. But when Harry asked where he had learned such wild-craft, Sirius merely smiled and grew silent. When at last bellies were reasonably full, and metal cups filled with pine needles and water were heating over the flames, Sirius stood, brandishing staves which he had whittled with his hunting knife to carve them into the crude likenesses of swords.

"Now, younglings, lets begin your tuition." Both Harry and Ginny arose at the request of their guardian. Each took a stave, Harry gazing curiously at the simple sword girded at his side.

"Shall we not duel with our own weapons?" questioned Harry of his godfather. Sirius issued an ominous snigger.

"Which will see both of you carved into dog meat," Sirius winked and twirled his wooden stave. "You fight with wood before you master steel."

Harry, chastised, un-girded his sword and lay it down beside the supply pack. Together both Harry and Ginny stood a yard apart, Harry's stance primed and cautious, Ginny's hesitant and loose. Three pairs of eyes gazed at each other, Harry and Ginny gazing deep at their guardian. Sirius' lip twitched.

In a burr of motion Sirius lunged at the youths. He was on them before either of them could mount a counter attack. With forceful strength Sirius batted Ginny's stave out of her hand, locked Harry's sword arm in a vice lock, before driving his knee deep into his godsons abdomen. A constellation burst in front of Harry's eyes at the force of the blow. Harry collapsed to the ground like a leaden weight, clutching his gut, his stomach knotted and cramped with agony.

Through tear strewn eyes Harry barely had the strength to lift his head to sight Sirius holding Ginny at bay: Sirius' stave pressed tight to her throat, as ominously as if it were a blade of steel. In a whirl of flamboyance, Sirius pitted his stave, turned to hoist Harry gruffly to his feet, grasping him by the collar of his tunic and drew back. Sirius gazed at each of his two charges, curtly he snorted with laughter.

"You two really are sheltered," stated Sirius forcefully but not unkindly. "If I had been any kind of fiend I could have killed you, young Harry, and ravished your fine companion without even breaking a sweat."

Harry gazed at Ginny, concern evident in his eyes at the thought of her safety. In such he raised his stave, his body still unable to fully erect due to the tight knot cramping his stomach. Ginny too retrieved her own stave, tossing back her auburn hair like a spray of molten copper, she took a readier stance, herself poised and determined. Sirius grew proud at such distinction, unbeknownst to the youths, the true extent of the training they were set to receive known only to Sirius and his hand.

Sirius forced Harry and Ginny to duel extensively. He did not soften his blows, striking gut and issuing blood from stuck mouths, knowing that the two youths would need to harden to blows. Ginny, hardy from a youth of rearing amongst boys, tried to fight hard, but drew away tearfully when Sirius crashed his fist into her mouth, breaking gums and issuing the taste of blood to the young lady.

Sirius eyed her, hunched over, dejected, tearful. Harry made to approach her, to comfort her but Sirius lifted his stave and slapped it forcefully into Harry's chest stalling his advance.

"She wanted to be a warrior, she must harden to blows."

"She is a woman, Sirius." Protested Harry, Sirius eyed his godson darkly.

"Bellatrix Black is a woman, and more fierce in arms there comes none. Do you think she or The Vulcan will soften their blows?"

Harry breathed, hearing the truth in Sirius' words yet inside feeling a sense of concern for the young lady who was his travel mate. He gazed pleadingly at Sirius who sighed in defeat.

Stepping up to the travel sack Sirius rummaged inside for something, finally Sirius arose from the sack clutching a large clear bottle and some cotton sheets. Stepping up to Ginny, she glanced up tearfully. Sirius tossed her the bottle which she caught frightfully.

"Witch-Hazel," Sirius spoke gruffly but not unkindly. "That should help with the pain."

"Thank... thank you." Ginny whimpered, Sirius waved a hand in dismissal, than gazed meaningfully at his young charge.

"You need not travel with us, we can take you on to the Eyrie. Not all of us are meant to be warriors."

"No...!" Ginny pleaded, gazing desperately at Sirius. "I'm sorry, I've... I've just never been punched so hard before. It was a shock."

"You will continue to taste blood the longer you stay with us. If this is what you want?"

"It is!" Ginny dried her eyes forcefully, looking down at her tears in deepest disgust. Sirius smiled and held out Ginny's stave.

"With you, good lady."

Sirius had Ginny duel Harry when, at last, Ginny had regained her fortitude. Each were instructed by Sirius him issuing commands as they duelled.

"Side on, Knees bent!"

When at last Sirius called an end, both Harry and Ginny sat bruised, bloody and beaten around the embers of the fire. Harry sat studying the bright glittering glyph upon his arm, Ginny, adorned in an under-tunic, while she cleaned grime and sweat away from her ornate armour. Harry gazed deep into the depths of the glyph, seeking someway, anyway in which he could improve on his swordsmanship and make his godfather proud.

Slowly, he felt himself slip, as if sinking into a sea of warm milk, peaceful, tranquil, slowly when he opened his eyes he found himself in the presence of the beauteous warrior who had brought him back from darkness once before.

She stood radiant, bathed in soft white light. In her hand she held a short sword. Its fashion unadorned and simple, but at the sight of Harry she bowed low and gestured for him to approached.

With his first footstep the dark shadows of his environment retreated, unveiling a vast, elaborate chamber compete with panelled walls, floor decorated with six intricate circles, one placed inside the other leading to a grand white crystal in the centre stretched out before him. The woman stood in the centre, silent and beautiful.

"Grace Wielder, you seek my help?" Her tone was polished, urbane, sexy in its musical trill. Harry swallowed, only then did he realise that he bore the weight of armour upon himself. He looked down at himself, Harry gasped to see that he stood adorned in armour of the finest quality.

Impenetrable brass, tin, silver, gold was forged the armour. Upon his arm was held a shield massy and broad of labour exquisite. About his form was fitted a corselet, bright, crested with gold and with laborious art divine adorned. At his side was girded a sword of leaf wrought design and splendid to behold. Harry grew dejected at the sight the grandeur of which he was festooned.

"I am ill worthy of such arms and garb." stated young Harry firmly, but the woman before him shook her head in contradiction.

"You bare the garb of peace. None but you are more worthy."

With grace the sword of which he wore was drawn swiftly from its scabbard, the woman stood before him, gesturing to the six circles upon the floor.

"You face me in a Hall of Heroes. You stand upon the furthest circle, but slowly, with time, you shall come to contract, progressing to a smaller circle until you fully master the blade."

"What do I know you as?" questioned Harry of the woman. The woman bowed and before her there was flash of light, upon her form was festooned white, light strewn armour.

"You may call me, Hermione."


	11. Touch of the Maniae

_**Touch of the Maniae**_

The skin about Hermione Grangers bound wrist grew beyond chafed. Cold, uncaring iron wore away once clear, smooth flesh to bare thick, bloody bands so painful that every movement became an agony. Such a wound once would not have been a hindrance to one such as Hermione Granger; all that would have been required would be the use of a simple skin grafting charm, spoken in the ancient language of magic. The use of this simple, but efficient spell would have healed her wound with out so much as a scar and relieved her of such terrible pain. But the use of such arts had been denied her, the force from which she drew her magic, suppressed, hazed by the dreaded '_Stella Draft:_' a magic control potion, brewed to keep her helpless and bound behind the walls of Strathshen Keep.

The Stella Draft had been forced upon her, fierce and ruthlessly. She had known the result of what would happen if she were to drink the dreaded potion when the slaves had come to administer it unto her. She had fought hard, with all the guile and force she possessed. Fighting with a bound arm and battered body, her strength had been far from able, herself still weak from the torment of Bellatrix Black. Six men, six full fighting men, not the bound slaves who had first entered, but members of the Strathshen Guard.

Six strong, able-bodied men united, barely contained the strength in which to restrain her. When, due to sheer weight of numbers, she had been restrained, the guard forced her mouth open. The slave woman, hesitant, fearful, poured the tasteless concoction down her throat. Hermione was forced to drink, her mouth closed, her breathing stalled forcibly until she relented and swallowed. In fear, all had backed away; she could read the terror in their eyes, smiled as some nursed mars upon flesh, body or bone.

"The woman's a beast!" roared a guard in insult, fear issuing insolence from him. Hermione stood snarling and spitting, seeking to cleanse herself of any presence of the vile potion.

"_Beast_?" she mussed her face wrought with a terrible smile. They knew not a true beast, should she have her sword then they shall see. The potion had taken hold almost instantly, itself numbed the senses, dulled focus, slurred the spirit. Forcefully Hermione tried to claw her way back from the curtain of blackness into which she was falling, tried to maintain her senses.

So beautiful, never, never before had the walls around her looked so beautiful. Around her there glistened and hazed the rainbows of a thousand raindrops. She gaze about her, her eyes strangely distant, watching, admiring, the pain in her wrist all but forgotten. All was beautiful, all was calm, herself filled with a sense of inner peace. Somewhere, someplace dark, lonely, where the true Hermione lay, so did she feel the touch of the Maniae.


	12. The Stray Sword

_**The Stray Sword**_

The plains stretched on seemingly without end. Everywhere about the land began to grow void of fresh verdant green, tree, sward and flower now blossoming into rich golden shade and auburn tones of autumn. Harry, Sirius and Ginny took up place within the rear of a trader's stock strewn wagon, himself, the merchant, thankful for the protection a warrior such a Sirius offered his wares.

"Damn Hobbs hav' been hitting us hard on this 'ere road," grunted the merchant, himself groaning in dismay. "Lost two wagon loads in two harvests, trades been mighty bad."

"Have you ever thought about changing your route?" questioned Ginny politely, she herself stating what she believed, a rather simple solution to the trader's dilemma.

"Can't young miss," grunted the trader, "This be the only route to Southghast Fief."

"Hobbs?" questioned Harry of Sirius.

"Goblins," Sirius spoke with rye amusement. "Most goblins are content to linger with the Dwarves, mostly within the mountains and secure halls of stone. Counting jewels and measuring wealth. But Hobbs are stunted, ugly things. They wander from road to road, sniffing out goods like ticks seek blood, making a nuisance of themselves."

"Have they no place to call their own?" questioned Ginny her tone sorrowful.

"At the end of a sword." Sirius issued a bark like laugh, Ginny shuddered at the cold, contempt in Sirius' voice and turned her gaze away.

"This be ya road." The trader called out. Drawing his wagon to a pause, the company stepped down from the rear, then did the company see that the etched silk route forked, south and south west. If they were to continue travelling with the trader they would continue upon the southern track until they came to Southghast Fief. But the trail they wanted, the south westerly trail, led them unto Etyel and Sirius' companion.

"Are ya sure ya can't be tempted into my escort?" questioned the trader, his visage grew fearful, almost pleading. "I could pay ya well for ya protection, good sir."

"I'm sure you could, friend trader," Sirius shook his head in humble refusal. "But I have been charged with a duty, and it is on my honour that I see through that duty." The trader groaned in obvious disappointment. Offering Sirius and his youths a blessing, the trader lumbered up onto the wagon bed, Harry and the company watched the wagon wind down the road slowly drifting out of sight, leaving them alone once more.

"Come my friends," Sirius winked, lifting his stave out from the waist band of his trousers. "You have had your rest, now we continue your exercises."

Once again Sirius give instruction in the way of the blade, forcing the youths to duel extensively, sometimes even for their meals and in response of his very strict approval. Harry failed to inform Sirius that not only was he receiving instruction from his Godfather, but also within the Hall of Heroes with the mysterious Hermione.

Sirius meanwhile, through actions of his charge, began to have his suspicions of Harry's intensive tuition. He had begun to suspect something during a single instruction. Sirius had disarmed Ginny; pivoting on his heel he came to rush Harry. But Harry, using a technique neither Sirius, nor who his Godfather knew, no corporeal duel-master had ever instructed to the boy, turned into Sirius' slash. The stave of Sirius drifted uselessly around Harry. Forcefully, the young man pushed his hip into Sirius' side and, using the momentum of his Godfather, tossed the broad warrior over him in a reflexive hip throw. Falling with him Harry pressed his stave to Sirius' throat in victory. Ginny gasped, Harry drew back startled, Sirius meanwhile sat up and laughed.

"Impressive!" complimented Sirius, Harry gazed at his hands shocked.

"I... I'm sorry." Harry said quickly.

"Sorry?" Sirius chuckled in delight. "Why are you sorry? You did well."

Harry gazed from Sirius to Ginny each watching him with a sense of pride and distinction. Slowly Harry allowed himself a smile, thinking of the beauteous warrior who had instructed him in the technique, wondering if she also would be proud of him?

Travelling so far began to ebb concern into Harry and Ginny. Their supplies were running low though Sirius reassured them that he possessed skills proficient enough to keep them fed. They made camp beside a narrow stream flowing across a bed of purifying stones. After checking that the water was flowing fast enough to drink in safety, the company filled their water skins and settled down for the evening. Pointing off into the distance Sirius indicated the rising of wood smoke and light present upon the expanse.

"We should come upon Etyel by tomorrow evening," Sirius said, a note of pleasure to his voice. "There we shall meet up with my companion. We will sleep rough for one more night; the sun is already too low to make the journey before nightfall. Not that any of us will complain."

Ginny let out a slight hiss, the thought of a warm bed and a bath most tempting to her, but she quieted from a look from Sirius and sat down in silence. The air was still warm enough not to light a fire; Sirius sat, eying his charges while sharpened his broadsword. Harry sat quiet, his fingers busy with something concealed, his Godsons eyes continuing to drift towards First Daughter Weasley. She now stood garbed in a under-tunic of simple linen, her armour long cleaned and treated, drawing her Recurve bow, taking aim upon the trunk of an aged oak.

Arrows shafted with supreme technique and precision upon an imaginary target. Sirius watched her calm, controlled breathing, used to steady her aim, the strong, spontaneous draw of the drawstring. Sirius arose and approached Ginny. She turned her visage wrought with pride and confidence. Sirius eyed her aim. The arrows were clustered no more than one tenth of a meter apart from the next. Each stationed exactly where the heart upon a fully grown warrior would be.

"You have a keen eye," Sirius addressed, Ginny smiled proudly stepping up to pull her shafts from the tree. "How often did you train with that weapon?"

"Everyday," informed Ginny to she and Harry's guardian. "My brother Ron and I trained together."

Sirius raised his eyebrows.

"I understand this was without the knowledge of your Lord Father?"

Ginny winked.

"I hated spinning; Ron always found excuses for me to avoid the womanly tasks to train in my true passions. I would hate to know what my mother would say if she found out."

"There will be no womanly tasks now," Chuckled Sirius, His words died in his throat. The air, once so warm and comfortable, now laced with an icy, deathly chill. The setting sun retreated behind a veil of darkness and each of the companies' breath issued as vapour as they breathed. Sirius turned towards the stream. Like icy fingers creeping to claim its once innocent presence, there did Sirius see ice began to form upon the water.

"Hide!" commanded Sirius. Both Harry and Ginny gazed at him, startled. Forcefully Sirius grabbed Ginny by the arm. Seizing his Godson in turn, Sirius forced both of them into the long grass. The warrior concealed their camp in as much haste as he could before he himself took to hiding. He grasped unto Harry and Ginny forcefully, the two youths could feel him shaking, they grew afraid. Slowly, upon the glens the source of such fears emerged.

Towering, hooded, terrible, three figures glided down the lane of which the party were following, each issuing a hideous, hoarse breaths. Ginny trembled in fright, Harry drew her dear to him, holding her close as she buried her head in his chest.

Time past without meaning, fear lanced their hearts, they knew not how long they laid their lay face down in the sod. Only when the sky was illuminated once more by the gentle rays of moonshine did Sirius chance to stand up. Beads of perspiration dotted his face; his fingers trembled upon the hilt of his broadsword.

"Dementors!" he breathed true fear breaking his voice. "Stay hidden, there are only two things which can repel those fiends, and I am not adept in magic. I just hope nature can protect us."

Harry nodded, Ginny still coiled in his arms, Sirius melded with the shadows, disappearing into the brush in search of what each of the two charges knew not. Fear spawned desperation into Sirius' hunt; fear for his charges more than himself. He sort franticly for the Trym bloom whose petals, when wept, possessed the power to repel Dementors.

By the scent of the leaves Sirius discovered patch of the flowers. He kneeled before them, began to harvest the petals. His reactions were sluggish through desperation. Sensing the presence of another Sirius reached for his broadsword. He got a hand to the hilt, a flash of steel streamed from his right. The stray sword pressed tight against his throat. Sirius stiffened. He cursed. Removing his hand from his weapon, he straightened.

"What's this? A marauder caught of his guard?"

The voice was strong, female and laced with mockery.


	13. Sanctuary Behind Petals

_**Sanctuary Behind Petals**_

Harry felt her presence come to lie in the long grass beside him.

"_Hermione..._." he whispered her name spiritually, softly; incorporeally he felt the tingle of fingers upon his skin, a gentle, reassuring touch of friendship and safety. He drew upon her strength, a strength and fortitude so vast, so great that it dwarfed any other sense he had ever felt before. Her warriors strength was invigorating, galvanised his resolve, fought off his fear, fear of the Dementors, inside he welled with courage and resilience anew.

"_They approach_." issued Hermione's sweet, urbane voice, a voice heard by none but he and he alone. His senses seemed to have heightened with their union, instincts sharper, primed, focused. Softly he touched Ginny's back through her under-tunic as a way of offering reassurance. He arouse from his station of simple safety. In one smooth, fluid motion Harry drew the Longsword belted at his waist, his stance strong, his eyes studying the deepening twilight of the hills and woodland in a warriors focus. His instincts sensed the approach of folk towards their station. Turning forcefully, his eyes fell upon the vague outline of Sirius, slowly emerging from the shadows. But it was the second person that drew Harry's gaze, his gaze and concern.

The figure beside Sirius was a woman fair, of youthful features with high cheekbones and a captivating smile. Herself garbed in black, from the high leather boots of supple, well fitting leather, to her tunic, gloves and ringmail, all shaded in deepest black. The feature most striking, and utterly shocking about the woman came from her hair, which fell in a cascading wealth to tumble down her back. The woman's hair glistened with highlights of deepest amethyst united with stands of midnight obsidian. The woman, with eyes of twinkling violet, smiled menacingly. Drawing herself before Sirius she raised her sword in challenge.

"Would be a shame to pike such a handsome head, little man." The woman's words cut with an icy, chill mirth, mocking, self-assured; Harry gazed at her ready to defend his Godfather and Ginny.

"Tonks, do not frighten the boy." spoke Sirius, placing a large hand upon the woman's shoulder, a slight smile touching the corners of his mouth.

The woman named Tonks winked playfully. With a flamboyant twist of her wrist the woman twirled her sword, tossing the blade over her shoulder and into its scabbard in an amazing display of dexterity. Ginny arose from the grass, gazed at Sirius and Tonks questioningly; Harry continued to eye the woman with caution.

"Ser Sirius? You... know this woman?" questioned Ginny of their guardian. Sirius issued his dog like laugh.

"Know her? We go back a long way me and Tonks, she is who I was taking the two of you to see."

"Wotcher!" the woman named Tonks' voice shifted from a slice of icy, intense arrogance to a trill of warm, friendly charm. "I'm impressed young Harry. Willing to stand before a Ranger, such fortitude is hardly seen in one so young."

"I fight for my companions." Harry responded in kind.

"A Ranger?" Ginny gasped gazing at the woman with sheer adoration. The woman name Tonks turned to her and offered her a gentle smile.

"So you see," the woman bowed low arms spread wide as if she herself were an exhibition. "I stand a sworn Ranger of the Realm."

"Goodness..." Ginny breathed Tonks offered her a playful wink.

"Now shall we see to safety? I understand you came across my quarry? Dementors are of all things, the most terrible to come across, Sirius we must protect these youths, if you may?"

Together both Tonks and Sirius began to weep and sprinkle the white petals of the Trym bloom about their sleeping spot the petals when wept containing to power to repel Dementors.

"These two better get used to watch," said Tonks a sly smile crossing her lips. "You look terrible Sirius; you need sleep. Let us all see exactly how willing little Harry is to protect his friends."

Harry gazed from Sirius to Tonks who smiled derisively. Harry nodded and drew himself up beside a tree, back pressed uncomfortably against the trunk. His eyes drifted over his slowly settling companions his sword drawn and resting across his lap. His eyes settled upon Tonks least of all. Harry could tell that the intensity of their travels had just increased.

When at last, Harry's watch had ended and Tonks had relieved him, Harry lay curled inside his bedroll, softly caressing the glyph upon his skin. He didn't know why but he longed for closeness, though inside he did, he felt un-whole with the touch of she so named Hermione. His heart longed for closeness; he felt at peace in her presence, wished to see her again yet knew not how to truly find her.

"Are you there?" he whispered to the glyph speaking, he hoped, to she. He felt no return of emotion, no connection, nothing but intense, sorrow and loneliness. His heart reached out to these feelings, sort her through the sorrow. Then, almost as if she had heard his call, he heard her voice issue, not to his ears, but more to his spiritual soul.

"_I am here_." His heart flourished at her voice, looked about him but saw none but the covers of his bedroll. He felt it from her, a deep, utter sadness, a sorrow so great it rend his heart at her terrible agony.

"Why do you feel so broken?" questioned Harry speaking with both his lips and soul. "Please let me help you."

He felt it gently, a weak, disbelieving gratitude.

"_None can help me Grace Wielder; I seek not the end of your life._"

"Hermione... Please I-"

"_You are too precious to lose, seek not me, for danger lays with my torment. Know that I shall help you as best I can."_

"Help me now!" pleaded Harry speaking desperately to his spiritual guardian. "I am fragmented without you."

He felt it softly, the sinking through darkness as he knew he was coming to join her. Joy surged through Harry at the thought as he closed his eyes, allowed himself to feel the sensation. He opened his eyes unto radiant beauty.


	14. Eavesdropping

_**Eavesdropping**_

Harry stood adorned in the armour of peace before the warrior Hermione. They stood, not within the Hall of Heroes, but amidst a vestibule of splendid light. The walls were un-blinding, as soft as candlelight, bright as sunshine, beautiful as star shine. Harry's armour glistened gold with the rays of the walls, Hermione's own breastplate, seemingly fashioned from forged luminosity, glinted as radiantly beautiful as she herself.

Before her Harry drew his ornate, steel blade and assumed the on-guard position taught to him both by Sirius and the woman before him. He drew in deep, calm breaths. Hermione reacted not to the drawing of the blade, her own sword resting within a scabbard of fashioned luminosity, herself content to watch the actions of the young man before her as Harry lowered himself into a ready stance.

Harry shuffled the weight upon his feet, feeling not smooth, flawless nothingness beneath the soles of his boots, but gruff, gritty texture, the same kind found upon a battlefield of grass and sod. With a deep, full, exclamation, Harry lifted his sword, bringing it down in a cleaving slice. He followed the blow quickly by raising his sword, sliced the air in a backhand side.

One by one Harry preformed the basic instructions taught to him, concentrating not upon strength or swiftness but technique. He reacted purely on instinct when the attack came. Hermione, who had been studying him closely, drew her sword in one swift motion, attacking at the precise moment when Harry's body was positioned away from her in an attempt to catch her opponent unawares. Harry's body turned swiftly. He caught her sword stiffly on his. A chorus of steel on steel chimed through the spiritual hall. Hermione attacks came as a swift blur, a flash of steel issuing unto a volley of strikes. But so proficient had Harry become in his training that he caught each with a parry, Hermione's skilful strikes met with speed and precision. To Harry's distress, so intense was the ferocity of Hermione's attacks that he found himself slowly driven backwards, himself unable to create an opportunity to counter.

Harry pivoted on the ball of his foot, turned away from Hermione's attack and seized her wrist tight attempting to disable her. But he left his body open; Harry had only grasped her sword arm, forgetting the danger of her free hand. From her belt at her waist, Hermione seized a dagger, twisted painfully in Harry's grip and mimed sinking the dagger into the exposed region of Harry's neck.

Harry swallowed, his arms now wrapped around the beauteous warrior, their bodies pressed tight together. Hermione turned in Harry's arms, turned to face him, their bodies intimately close. Together they each drew in collective breaths, chests heaving as one, the feel of vibrant hearts beating beneath armour.

"Never stand close to the enemy." Hermione breathed her lips inches from his. Harry licked his lips, gazed into her intense brown eyes. Beneath his fingers Harry felt the intimate curve of her back, the busty swell of her breasts pressed against his chest beneath layers of incorporeal protection. They breathed as one; they drew in close, so very close.

Slowly, painfully, Hermione melted like mist out of his arms, himself lanced with loss as Harry felt himself slowly forced away from her.

Harry's eyes drew open unto the world of forest clusters and fresh autumn air. Harry turned his gaze, scowling to glance upon Ginny who stood over him, crimson tresses tied back, clad in her flamboyant armour.

"Sirius and Tonks are waiting for us." prompted Ginny; Harry threaded a hand through his tousled locks sitting up in his bed roll as Ginny stepped away from him offering him privacy, leaving her companion alone with his thoughts. Harry's fingers tingled with the presence of Hermione, his body hot with the feel of her. He forced away the thoughts and stood from his bedroll. Turning Harry proceeded to the stream, gazing down into its clear depths. Harry blinked at the image which stared back at him out of the depths of the water. The image was that of a stranger. Gone was his fashioned, well groomed features which had made him so desirable in Ursir. Now, tousled locks crowned a stubble strewn visage, his body, once so thin and wiry was now slowly cording with muscle. Harry tensed the muscles in his sword arm, felt the power he possessed in his body. He was proud of himself, a pride which only issued a stronger sense of determination.

Harry paused with Ginny behind a living tree on the outskirts of a clearing where Tonks and Sirius were taking council.

"We'll be moving out soon," Sirius spoke to his companion. "You need not follow us, all we ask for is shelter long enough for the charges to become adept then we shall intrude upon your hospitality no longer."

Tonks gave a derisive snort.

"Think you are leaving me out of the fun, Sirius?" teased Tonks so. "I know where you are going. You plain to take Harry to Vardil-Galin. Do you really think he will be as safe from The Vulcan amongst The Elves as he would amidst the wild?"

"Elves?" whispered Ginny her tone one of hushed shock. Harry gazed from her is own visage startled his heart was beating franticly as both he and Ginny drew in close to the tree to listen.

"We need to know more about the Grace which inhabits Harry." Spoke Sirius sternly. "I've seen it. The boy is developing much too rapidly. He is receiving instruction from someone other than I. What if who is teaching Harry is The One? What if he instructs Harry in his darkness? I love Harry to much to see him tainted."

Harry swallowed deeply, touched by Sirius' words. Harry felt a hand upon his shoulder, saw Ginny standing close to him a look of concern upon her visage. Harry smiled softly, words of reassurance failing him as Tonks voice broke the silence.

"Vardil-Galin is as far away from Strathshen keep as possible."

"As far away west as I can take him, I pray that he never crosses the Gulf nor ever sees that terrible place."

"You can't protect him forever, Sirius." Spoke Tonks wisely. Sirius growled ominously.

"I will protect him and Ginny as long as there is blood in my veins and breathe in my lungs."

Tonks nodded, placing a hand upon Sirius' shoulder. Harry drew away from the doorway, both he and Ginny humbled by Sirius' pledge. Slowly Sirius and Tonks turned towards the tree.

"You need not eavesdrop," stated Sirius so. "You are free to join us."


	15. Challenge For Freedom

_**Challenge For Freedom**_

"Vardil-Galin?" so spake Harry his tone questioning. He gazed upon his godfather who nodded his expression morose ushering the two charges forward with a simple gesture.

"You have been touched by a Grace, Harry." Sirius laid a comforting, fatherly hand upon his Godsons shoulder, seeing within the depths of the young man's eyes that Harry also, just as Tonks, wished for answers, answers the traversed warrior could not offer.

"You possess powers far greater than neither I nor Tonks truly understand. You must attain the council of those wiser and more knowledgeable in the mystic arts than ourselves."

Harry sank his teeth into his lower lip, as he had done much through his youth, his young face, unshaved yet fair, grew hard, concern and dread shadowed his jade eyes.

"What of my mother and father?" Harry's voice cracked with raw emotion. "Will I, will we, Ginny and I… ever return home?"

"That," Tonks said gently, her face softening with kindness. "Is unknown to all but the Gods, but you must understand how to harness the power you possess. Otherwise risk catastrophic consequences."

"I am sorry, young ones," Sirius spoke his words laced with obvious hardship and affection. "I know this must be difficult for you both, but you must understand, Vardil-Galin is the only place we can be truly sure of safety."

Tears brightened Ginny's eyes at Sirius' words, but these were tears she hastily stalled, straightening her carriage she responding in kind. Harry, laden with heartache and sorrow, sort to conceal his own agony, his stomach clenched with unease. Turning away, Harry proceeded back to camp. Settling himself down beside the embers of the fire, he buried his head in his hands, un-weeping, but sorrowful, laden with a deep, terrible anguish for the family he left behind.

They party reached Etyel by noon, to Harry and Ginny's surprise Tonks had lifted her hood to conceal her face, but when it was lowered her hair was not the outlandish shade of vivid violet but of long, strawberry blonde.

"What in the-?" but Harry's words of surprise were silenced at a hiss from Sirius. Tonks winked playfully and proceeded to lead the company into the village. The apartment of which Tonks lead them too was fine and comfortable, stationed above the Fox Grove tavern. Tonks, with airy gestures, kicked off her road stained boots before vaulting over the back of a large settee in the centre of the living room. With an flump she dropped down onto the feathery cushions, she sighed good-naturedly

"It's not much, but its home."

"This is more than we need." Sirius addressed kindly. The living room was broad and decorated with many vivid canvases of obscure artistry. A vast wing chair rested beside an ornate log fireside the floor decorated with an elegantly designed throw rug. Harry and Ginny, once so taken to station and prowess, now sat humble and quiet upon the throw, while Tonks and Sirius took their seats. Each sat in quiet silence for several moments before the eyes of the guardians turned to each of the charges. Tonks' once so relaxed gaze grew wolfish as she smiled at the pair.

"Now, little ones," Tonks said ominously. "We have plans for each of you."

Harry tried to listen, tried to focus, but as Tonks spoke he was aware of a sickening, high, thin sound, at the edge of hearing, the screams of some terrible, intense agony. He tried to concentrate, to listen to Tonks and Sirius' words. But the pain, the agony in those screams, so absolute, so awful that his heart bled for their agony.

In torture Harry arose. He registered not the startled looks of companions, his only thought the terrible pain within those screams. Blindly, desperately, Harry fled Tonks' apartment, rushed through the tavern saloon, knocked aside patrons in his haste as he fled. Sirius and Tonks hastening after him, calling though their words fell deaf to the pain he heard.

Harry gripped his head in agony, lost to the world, lost to his companions, lost to nothing but the agony. Blinded, agonised, dying, Harry collapsed face down into the unknown, the pain to much to bare, his corporal body lying limp amidst a secluded back street, his celestial spirit, lost to darkness as he felt himself slipping through layers of pain and shadow to a world he knew not. The screams grew louder, the darkness deeper and blinding. Suddenly Harry's eyes opened unto dim, narrow light, coarse stone walls, and the air thick with the sense of agony and death.

Harry's heart physically rended at the sight which fell before him.

Hermione, the woman who he had shared so much with, stood shackled in the centre of a dark, hollow cell. Before her stood a woman, as beauteous as that touched by the divine, but her beauty was marred by her intense, twisted, sadistic gaze, the gaze of which she observed her prisoner. The woman Hermione stood panting, body chained, her naked form heaved as she gazed at the woman with her intense brown eyes.

"You will never find him, Bellatrix," Hermione unleashed her words in a fury terrible, allowing herself a sly chuckle at her own torment. "I will never betray the Order. Kill me, your efforts are fruitless."

"_No!_" Harry's heart was lanced with agony at such unthinkable words. The thought of losing her beyond comprehension, though the woman named Bellatrix filled with a deadly air.

"In due time my pretty one." Stepping up to Hermione, Bellatrix drove her fist deep into her prisoner's abdomen. The blow struck with such force that it drove the air clean from Hermione's lungs rending her weak, disabled. Forcefully Bellatrix began unshackled Hermione's wrists, with contempt and force, Bellatrix threw her winded captive into a heap into the furthest corner of the cell. With a stride of elegant distinction, Bellatrix crossed the cell towards the door, which she bolted with a massive padlock, leaving the key in the lock.

From her waist intense Bellatrix drew forth a plain, unadorned short-sword, Harry recognised it, it was the same weapon Hermione always used when she duelled him. With eyes of vicious delight Bellatrix set down the weapon on the floor beside the door, the weapon behind her, herself the only thing standing between Hermione and liberty.

Hermione, through deep gasps, had managed to climb to her feet, still she clutched her abdomen, the muscles tort, her breath laboured, inside she understood the game which Bellatrix wished to play. Hermione eyed the Vulcan commander, her eyes drifting from her to the sword at her feet, which was, in truth, hers to wield. Mighty Bellatrix took up a ready stance her body open, her form stationed upon the balls of her feet as she shifted her weight in anticipation.

"A Death Duel! My dear Hermione," hissed Bellatrix beneath a cackle of mad laughter, this only confirming Hermione's suspicions. "The best of The Order against the chief of The Reign, only one of us will leave this cell alive."

Harry, as indistinguishable as a ghost, looked on in horror as Hermione herself took a ready stance. Together each of the warriors gazed into each-other's eyes. Hermione: poised, strong, beautiful. Bellatrix: fierce, intense, crazed. Harry's heart stalled as together the two women fell unto each other to fierce encounter.


	16. The Death Duel

_**The Death Duel**_

In horror Harry watched on as both dearest Hermione and brutal Bellatrix stood intense at set-to. Bellatrix, primed, fiery, fearless continued to sift her weight back and forth upon the soles of her feet, her body loose and open with the confidence gathered from a lifetime of bloodshed. Hermione herself, took a readier stance. She stood energy strong, intense, weighted with the air of the trained warrior. Each looked on at each-other, Bellatrix's eyes, deepest black and bright with malice and sadistic anticipation as she relished upon the horrors she was soon to inflict, Hermione's shaded brown eyes, once so beautiful for Harry to gaze into, now grew dark, containing her thoughts from him and her opponent, mentally, physically, herself now totally and utterly focused upon redemption and liberty.

Bellatrix sifted one last time to the balls of her feet. As if unable to contain the emotions any longer, Bellatrix issued an inhuman, malevolent death grow before, with swiftness, charged Hermione.

Hermione took up the charge. The two women rushing head long towards one-another. Harry dare not breathe, his heart griped like a vice of dread in his chest, his breathing stalled. They collided in an explosion of violence.

Bellatrix, white faced and vicious, had aimed a punch towards Hermione. But the brown eyed warrior, observing the twitch of muscle in Bellatrix's shoulder which betrayed her intentions, dropped her profile, forcing her shoulder deep into her foes' abdomen. The same way a Rugby player would in a tackle. With an outburst of technique and power, Hermione lifted Bellatrix into the air, and in one graceful, and vicious, movement, swung her over herself and forced her, back first, into the unforgiving stone floor.

Bellatrix gasped in shock, herself barely able to control her fall so as not to disable herself. Hermione, in a burst of fury, hoisted her foe to her feet by the lapels of her leathers, before issuing a flurry of blows. Bellatrix snarled, grasped Hermione's hair with both her hands and thrust her head into her face in a dirty head-butt. Hermione jotted backwards, herself hardened to such blows faltered only in the slightest. But it was the opening Bellatrix sort. Grasping Hermione, Bellatrix pulled her foe forward, bringing up her right elbow to strike her defenceless face. Bellatrix continued to throw a number of terrible elbows to Hermione's face.

Hermione exploded in wrath. Throwing off Bellatrix's grasp, tearing out handfuls of her long locks, Hermione smashed a punch clean into Bellatrix's nose. Blood marred her pale skin, her nose shattered in an eruption of horror. Full force Hermione threw a side cross once more into Bellatrix's face, this time catching Bellatrix's eye.

Harry, filled with horror, watched as the two women duelled. They fought like animals, as rabid lions thus fuelled by fury and hatred, issuing blow and vicious attack. Blood dotted the stone of floor and walls, marred skin and leather, each merciless and terrible with their attacks. Inside Harry longed to put an end to this duel, to help Hermione, to assist her, to save her. But he felt restrained, an intruder upon the Death Duel and he into his very soul writhed with sickness at what he witnessed, the level of barbarity, the fury, the hatred.

Bellatrix seized Hermione's head, herself sinking her teeth into Hermione's skin to force her to break her vice lock. With sadistic malice she attempted to drive Hermione's head off the one of the walls of the cell. But Hermione thrust out her hands, saving herself from such dreadful a blow. Issuing a cry, Hermione drove her elbow deep into Bellatrix's gut. The Vulcan commander arched over her opponents shoulder, the air drove out of her, winded, disabled. Seizing Bellatrix's dark locks, Hermione proceeded to drive her hated enemies head off the wall. Stunned, agonised, weak from blows, Bellatrix was defenceless to Hermione's punch. The blow smashed Bellatrix beneath the jaw. Lifted clean off her feet from the force of the blow. Bellatrix's knees buckled and gave. She, Bellatrix collapsed to the coarse stone floor stunned, helpless, defeated.

Hermione dived for the sword. Her body rolled with momentum, rose to her feet clutching the sword. She charged her torturer, all thought on redemption, Bellatrix slowly climbed to her feet once more. Hermione swung the sword, seeking to smite her foe. Bellatrix waved her hand. From the air was formed a Longsword like none Hermione had ever seen. Alive with luminosity, translucent, a shard of crystal it shimmered with a ghost light sharper than any true forged blade.

The two blades meet. Bellatrix's doom escaped. Hermione drew back, her sword still clutched in her hand. Her naked bust heaved with her breathes, her beauty spoiled by her Death Duel. But here now, standing, facing her hated enemy, Hermione knew the fate that was to befall her.

"I... I never was to leave this cell, was I?" inquired Hermione, Bellatrix smiled and winked her unblemished eye.

"You fought well," complimented Bellatrix, her smile one of wicked triumph over the crestfallen warrior before her. "The best I have ever fought."

Hermione, broken, defeated, even in victory, lowered herself to her knees clutching the sword tight to her heart.

"Will you allow me to die as I lived?"

Bellatrix nodded her accent. Hermione closed her eyes in anticipation for the final strike.

"_No_!" Harry's heart wrenched within him as Bellatrix approached Hermione. She couldn't die, not here, not now! Bellatrix, placed her crystal sword towards Hermione's heart, she knew the correct height for execution. Hermione breathed, gazed up into stark, black eyes. She nodded in acceptance.

"_Be strong, Grace Wielder_." whispered Hermione though their connection speaking to he and he alone. Harry screamed, as Bellatrix drew back the sword ready for the Death blow.


	17. The Grace Wielder

_**The Grace Wielder**_

The strident cry of crystal upon steel resounded amidst the coarse stone cell. Bellatrix drew back, the stark light, blinding, dazzling, so utterly bright as to awash the once gloomy cell in its brilliant luminosity. Hermione looked up, herself un-startled by the brightness, she gasped in shock at the sight of who stood before her. He stood adorned in the dream armour she had seen him clad so often. Upon the exquisite, godlike armour, patterns ran across shield, corselet and sword the same way moonlight thus runs upon water.

"Harry!" Hermione cried desperate, disbelieving, a cry of anguish. "Why?"

Harry refused to draw his gaze away from Bellatrix, the light omitting from his armour slowly defusing and bringing sight back to the Vulcan Commander.

"I could not lose you." so he spake, a deep fierceness to his words, a fierceness laced with some other intense emotion. Slowly his incorporeal weaponry formed into true steel, yet somehow maintained their majestic majesty.

"Grace Wielder!" hissed Bellatrix a dark smile brightening her duel ruined visage. "Such a pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

"Hermione, the door!" Harry ordered seeking safety behind his shield as he sort to meet Bellatrix at arms. Understanding, fearful, Hermione leapt for the key and padlock. Bellatrix unleashed a roar, she charged. With pure emotion driving his actions, Harry forced himself between Bellatrix and Hermione. He flicked his shield, forced Bellatrix back like a warrior in a battle pulse. As one he and Bellatrix fell to a volley of blows.

Harry barely managed to raise his majestic sword up to defend himself from a slash at his ribs. Their blades met with a strike, a shower of sparks ensued, the strike issuing an exclamation of steel meeting the cry of crystal. The impact shook the young man to his very bones, almost was he forced sideways, but fear for Hermione stayed his strength.

"_God's above, such power!_" Harry raised his sword in a hasty slash directed at the throat of his attacker. But Bellatrix merely leaned back, allowing the blade to sever the air between them, a look of contemptuous mirth crossing her face. Though trained by a master of the blade: Hermione, and Sirius who was also a deadly swordsman, he had never known anyone this skilful. Fear issued through Harry, a fear so great that it coursed through his corporeal senses as he struggled to fend off the obviously superior warrior.

"Harry, now!" cried Hermione the door opened after what seemed a lifetime. Forcing distance between he and Bellatrix Harry fled the chamber. Hermione allowed Harry to rush through the door before she herself took up the fight. In the narrow passageway outside the cell both Hermione and Harry fell upon Bellatrix, Harry protected Hermione with his shield, Hermione took up the fight with her blade.

Inside Harry an intense, burning energy began to gather from every fibre of his being. The energy grew deeper, stronger, gathered so intensely that he felt he would burst if it was not unleashed. Hermione drew back, a cry tearing from her lips as Bellatrix's crystal sword drew blood from her side. At the sight of her injury, her pain, Harry concentrated this fury into his shield. It glowed with fiery, blue energy, its form trembling on his arm as it grew brighter. A word issued from Harry's lips, a single, alien word, the energy was unleashed.

"Expelliarmus!"

The air responded with an explosion. A rush of blue energy surged from his shield smashing into Bellatrix head on. Screaming, the Vulcan Commander was lifted from her feet; her form sent streaming through the air, her sword tossed from her hand, the sword dissipating upon the air as its wielder crashed to the stone feet away from he and Hermione. A blue shock wave thundered down the corridor but it past insubstantially between Harry and Hermione. Harry sagged, his body drained, Hermione grasped him, keeping his balance as he leaned against her.

"You... truly are a Grace Wielder." Spoke Hermione in awe as Harry gazed at her affection deep in his eyes.

"We must flee." Stated Harry, from off in the distance they each could hear the sound of armour clad warriors dashing in the direction of the explosion. Nodding, her side still weeping, Hermione supported Harry as they fled down the corridor. They drew into an alcove, their breaths stalled, their forms concealed by shadow. They watched as a contingency of guards hurry past them in search. A single guard stopped at the sight of the blood upon the floor. He kneeled to examine the direction of the trail.

Hermione rushed out, her attack coming before the guard could call out a warning or draw his blade.

Forcefully she drove her elbow into the guards jaw. Driving the guard backwards Hermione smashed his head off the wall, in one fluid motion, she broke his neck with her bare hands. Harry gazed with intense respect at Hermione, as she dragged the body towards the alcove. In haste she began to strip the corpse of its clad and armour.

"I need garb." Stated Hermione at the disgusted look on Harry's face, Harry allowed himself a smile. Hermione found bandages amongst the guards belongings, which she wrapped about herself to bind the wound in her side, before she stood garbed in the black of a Strathshen guard.

"Do you know how to Apparate?" questioned Hermione of Harry.

"I have never been taught." Stated Harry truthfully, Hermione winced again and grasped his shoulder.

"I cannot do it; they force me to drink the Stella Draft which disables my magical ability. But you are a Grace Wielder; you possess the power to liberate us."

Desperate, confused, he threaded his hand into hers, closed his eyes. Within him Harry felt her fuse with him as she had done when his will was weak. She spoke to him incorporeally, guiding him, instructing. He thought of Sirius, of Tonks, of the apartment in Etyel. Away from fear, away from danger. A sensation of terrible construction surrounded Harry and he was surrounded by a mass of darkness. An echoing crack filled the air and he crashed down to solid wood.

He heard a cry of fright and alarm. He lifted his gaze and saw Tonks and Sirius rushing towards he and to his startled surprise, Hermione. He breathed a sigh of relief, as he rose to his feet, his body between Hermione and his guardians himself still clad in splendid armour, his shield protecting Hermione as both Tonks and Sirius had reached for their swords.

"Lower your blades!" stated Harry firmly, speaking with all the authority of a true Grace Wielder. "She is a friend.


	18. Return To Perfection

_**Return to Perfection**_

The two guardians, Tonks and Sirius, gazed in astonished fascination as before them the rich arms and ornate armour which their friend or Godson bore, slowly began to seep from his form. Smooth, astounding, flawless, the garb fell away from him as simply as sand thus skims across the dunes when caught upon the wind. Still he stood strong; stronger than either guardian had ever seen him, protecting the Strathshen garbed woman from their wrath.

"She is a friend!" so spake Harry forcefully, standing between she and the party.

"Harry, can you be sure?" questioned Sirius of his Godson. Harry nodded his assurance.

"On my honour, she is a friend. She is in need of medical aid!"

"Harry…" Hermione's words were weak, agonised yet still laced with pride. "You need not-"

Hermione's words died in her throat. Beneath her weight her legs willowed. Falling, Harry turned swiftly and gathered her into his arms, supporting her, comforting, strong in his embrace. Delicately he brushed back stray strands of her blood stained hair to unveil the horror inflicted upon her at the hands of Bellatrix.

"You are weak!" stated Harry brokenly, inside her agony lanced through him as if it were his own. "Please, let me help you."

"You... weak... Bellatrix." Her words were laboured, every breath a burden. Harry ignored her protests. Placing his grace fused hand against her cheek, he drew upon the power he once felt gathered deep within. His heart reached out for her, felt their connection, felt her concern, but inside they each felt something so much stronger.

Drawing upon this, blinded to the startled looks of his companions, Harry's glyph began to glow with a brilliant radiance. From the glyph their seemed to issue a strange, intense energy, seeping through Harry's arm, physical to sight yet spiritually formed, there flowed beautiful, radiant, crystalline water. It flowed slowly through Harry's skin into Hermione's coming into contact where Harry's fingertips touched her face.

Slowly, before the eyes of all, every blemish, every mar and injury sustained to Hermione gradually healed by the flowing, glistening water. Harry could feel Hermione's concern, her fear, not for herself, but for him. Still he continued to heal her until finally Harry drew back and Hermione drew herself back up to her full height, every blemish gone and utterly beautiful once more.

"Harry... How?" Ginny gasped in disbelieving shock as Hermione touched her face gingerly, tears brightening her startling, brown eyes.

"Why?" Hermione choked on her gratitude. "What you did, do you know the danger you enforced upon yourself?"

"Hermione..." Harry breathed each seemingly lost to each other as he smiled at her. "I am not a great warrior such as yourself, but I will see no harm befall you."

Hermione's lips twitched with the slightest of smiles then, drawing close, she placed a kiss upon Harry's brow. Harry grew flush at the kiss and their eyes met for an instant, she offered him a radiant smile.

"I owe you my life."

"And us an explanation." stated Sirius gruffly. Turning Harry faced his Godfather, Hermione coming to stand beside him as he did.

"Please, take your seats," Hermione said, gesturing airily to the two guardians. "Our story is vast."

.

A sensation not unpleasant, as that of ice upon fevered flesh, dotted Bellatrix Black's brow. Her body, her very soul ached in agony s as slowly she allowed herself to feel the sensations of feelings once more. Gingerly she opened her stark, unmarred eye, to sight a candle lit chamber supported by a thick beamed ceiling. She was aware of someone beside her, turning her head she saw the pale face of young master Malfoy.

"My chief," Malfoy's voice broke nervously, clearly uncomfortable with his roll of supporting the chief of The Vulcan. "Your wounds are many you must-"

"Do not tell me what I must!" hissed Bellatrix forcefully, throwing off young Draco's tends she stood from her bed. To her disgrace, her knees disabled as she stood, herself forced to fall upon young Malfoy for support. Shame coursed through Bellatrix like sickness as Draco gently settled her back down upon her ornate bed. From a bucket beside the chair of which he sat, Malfoy soaked a rag with ice water and proceeded to clean Bellatrix's wounds as she herself wallowed in her disgrace.

"_Bested_!" Bellatrix spat within herself the shock of such giving over to utter humiliation. "_By a mere youngling_!"

The memory of that terrible moment relived itself over and over within her mind so that she thought she would go mad with the disgrace. How was it possible? She was the wielder of the one true Grace. How could one so young possibly possess so much power?

"Enough Draco!" snapped Bellatrix turning to sit upon her bedside. "Leave me."

"But my lady?" Draco protested weakly.

"Leave me!"

Draco obeyed slinking from the room leaving Bellatrix alone with her thoughts. Standing, her legs still shaky beneath her weight, she crossed the expanse towards the ornate silver wrought full length mirror which adorned the west wall. Bellatrix sniggered at her ruined visage. She drew upon the power of her Grace. Swiftly Bellatrix was engulfed in blackest shadow, herself suddenly swallowed by a cocoon of darkness. For moments she stood engulfed in darkness before finally, slipping from herself like garb, she was unveiled fully healed and restored to full beauty.

The weapon obeyed the call of its master with just the simplest mind call. The living sword sprang to life upon its place of honour, slithering across the stone floor before it began to wind its way around its master. It came to rest within the hand of its master. Gazing back at herself from deep within the depths of the mirror there was reflected a brutal, determined, beautiful rendition of herself. Inside Bellatrix felt the shame of her defeat course through her once more and she lashed out with her blade. The mirror before her, the reflected Bellatrix fragmented into pieces, shards of glass sprinkling to the floor like deadly snow. Beneath her boot she crushed glass into powder. With a venomous hiss she pledged her revenge.


	19. Everclear

_**Everclear**_

The air was heated, humid, a thick, clammy atmosphere perturbing slumber and moistening skin. Harry James Potter tossed back the simple cotton of the Fox Grove taverns bed sheets, exposing his fine, semi-nude form to the air. Settling himself down upon the rim of the bed, Harry buried his head into his hands, his self unbalanced by a barrage of raw emotion. He breathed deep, himself attempting to quieten the torrent of streaming emotions, seeking to grasp and understand the true sense of the chaos of which he felt inside. His heart flourished with passions anew, his emotions centred upon she. He swallowed and in standing drew upon him his garb, himself proceeding to exit his chamber.

Standing atop the balcony overlooking the taverns saloon, Harry's eyes fell upon her. Her beauty transfixed his movements, his heart pounding to a vibrant cadence against his chest. He knew not the extent of the sentiments of which he was feeling, never, not in all of his young life had he ever felt passion this strong.

Her beauty was entrancing. Once grubby flesh, laden with the filth of imprisonment, had long since been cleansed, offering an unperturbed gaze upon clear, porcelain smooth skin. Her hair of chestnut tresses tumbled in a lustrous cascade. Itself, unmarred by headband or restriction, merely left to fall free and beautiful about her person. Her garb, pressed upon her by friend Tonks, subsisted of figure hugging leather trousers, these of which clung to her form perfectly, accentuating glimpse of her strong, shapely, thighs, complete with a halter of dark, rich leather, exposing alluring glimpse of creamy skin at neck, shoulders and tantalising glimpse of bosom, herself quiet, mysterious, beautiful.

Hermione seemed to sense the eyes of someone upon her. Her acute senses put her onto his direction and she glanced up from the bar, together they fell into each others eyes. Harry's breath caught in his throat. His heart beat all the more franticly as he felt himself falling into those pools of depthless wonder. She smiled at him, a warm, brilliant smile so alluring Harry faltered. With a subtle gesture she beckoned him join her.

Harry quietly joined her, settled himself upon a stool beside her, herself offering him a furtive half glance. Only then in their closeness did Harry see that she, Hermione, sat nursing a large bottle half filled of a colourless concoction and tumbler.

"Are you troubled?" Harry questioned gently, himself somehow sensing the deepening despair which exuded from her. Her agony pained him. He sort to somehow ease her anguish. Her eyes, half veiled by a stream of chestnut tresses, met his there depths shrouded by a deep, intense shadow. She raised her hand and gestured with her finger towards the innkeep. In silence he brought over another clear glass tumbler of which she slid towards Harry.

"To liberty!" Hermione toasted half filling both she and Harry's glasses with the contents of her bottle. Each, both she and Harry raised their glasses before, together, each swallowed down the clear liquid.

Harry gasped; tears brightened his eyes, he coughed his words a splutter, slamming a fist into his chest, the heat of the alcohol seemed to strip away his very internals. Hermione chuckled darkly herself already refilling her glass and taking a controlled sip.

"Never experienced the heat of Everclear, have you friend?" Hermione's voice was sweet, laced with silent challenge. Harry turned to face her, his face flush with heat and shock as he gazed mincingly at the bottle.

"That... that stuff is..." gasped Harry his words tumbling over himself as he struggled to find words to describe such a drink. Hermione chuckled darkly and took another swig.

"A little more intense than those soft summer wines you once enjoyed, yes?" Hermione gestured with her bottle to refill Harry's glass. Fearful of both the contents, and for his manhood if he were to refuse, Harry begrudgingly accepted the proffered drink. Gingerly he took a sip as Hermione winked playfully at her companion.

"How can...?" Harry gasped; even the slightest of sips troubled him. "Why...?" Hermione's face grew shaded.

"It quietens the demons." Hermione spoke her tone now laced with quiet despair. Harry, hearing the pain in her voice, seeing the agony in herself, reached out and laid a precautionary hand upon her own.

"Demons?" Harry's voice cracked with emotion. "Are you haunted?"

"Always..." Hermione breathed taking another sip of her heated drink. She turned to face him, saw the radiance of concern in his face and felt her heart reach out to him. Gradually, gently, her defences were lowered. Slowly she confided her agony in him. Emotion crept into her voice, true, un-grieved sorrow as she talked of the slaying of her guard, friends she was fond of, of those who had died in her service, but her deepest agony lay with her torment at the hands of Bellatrix.

"You have faced agony terrible," Harry said gently his voice laced with impassioned care. Softly he caressed Hermione's soft hair. Her eyes closed in endearment, at the intimacy of his caress. "I stand by you now; we shall find a way for you to heal, together."

She turned to face him, her eyes bright with emotion.

"You need not such a burden." Hermione breathed gently herself drawing close to him, himself drawing near to her. "I seek not to hinder you."

"You are no such hindrance," Harry breathed the distance between themselves slowly diminishing as each drew in close to each other. "I would do anything to help you, to ease the pain you feel."

His breath teased her lips, her cheek. Inside Hermione felt the connection she spiritually shared with him unite, she felt his passion, his desire, itself twin of her own. She allowed Harry to feel her emotions, felt his surprise at her sudden confession. Their lips drifted ever so close, a mere whisper between them. Inside each wished for the union, the connection of each other. They sat together, lips intimately close, eyes closed in longing, hearts beating rapidly in passion. The connection never came.

Both Harry and Hermione opened their eyes, a sly smile crossing each of their lips before, as one, they drew apart. Harry shivered with suppressed desire, his blood raging with heat as Hermione observed him through a veil of dark tresses. She couldn't do it, couldn't give herself over to someone so mysterious, despite the fires of passion she felt searing within her for him. She was no stranger to passion, but her emotions were to wild, to intense to be trusted, she had not survived for so long by being reckless, and she had been reckless with her heart once before, never again.

Hermione could see that her companion was battling with his own emotions, she knew not only by his troubled demeanour, but from the chaos she felt emanating from him. She tested his emotions, observed them, treading carefully so as not to alarm him. She felt a deep, intense sadness festering beneath the storm of passion, a sadness born from the unknown, the unknown fate of loved ones. Her heart split at this intense sorrow, herself seeking a sense of assistance for his agony. Reaching out she placed her hand upon his.

"There are ways in which we can see our loved ones," Hermione reassured him gently, her thumb softly caressing the smooth crown of his hand. "Even if they are distant from us."

"How?" Harry gasped, renewed joy brightening his words as she smiled at him. She took up her bottle and, in request of the innkeep, proceeded to pour amounts of the contents into a basin. The clear liquid formed a still pool upon the base, Hermione and Harry staring down into the clear depths.

"Think of your loved ones," breathed Hermione herself joining with Harry spiritually as she so often did during instruction. Within him, themselves whole as one, Hermione felt his psyche focus upon a proud, intense man: A warrior of supreme class and distinction. Harry's love was joined by an intense respect, a respect born with pride for his warrior father. Together, they each drew upon the energy found deep within themselves, sharing words, they spoke the incantation which would unleash the magic.

"_Myrth' Ansel_.

The water grew still, reflections slowly fading to a sea of mist. Harry looked deep hoping to catch some glimpse, some sight of his father, but all that was displayed before him was grey, empty nothingness. Inside he felt Hermione's heart lapse into sorrow. She drew him into her arms about him and pulled her companion away from the basin. Tears of sorrow seeped down Harry's cheeks as the heartache truly struck. He understood Hermione's kindness, her comfort, the reason for the emptiness upon the pool: Harry's father, James Potter, now rested beyond this mortal coil.


	20. Blaise

Blaise

Ginny's laughter was infectious. Her mirthful trill issued joy and gaiety as she smiled warmly at the handsome stranger perched beside her. Together they sat in quiet company within the peacefulness of a secluded booth. The young man, skin as dark as fresh coffee, smiled benignly. Softly he reached out and tweaked Ginny's crimson mane. The young man was garbed in rich linen, a mark of station and prosperity. At his waist was girded a fine sword, castle forged wrought in muted pale gold, complete with a shimmering, lions head pommel which opened to omit the flow down unto a curved, black sabre. The sword was girded to a chain of interweaving silver and gold. Like his garb, Ginny's new associate spoke with rich, refined polish, charm and distinction.

"You, do not hail from such parts do you, fair one?" questioned the young man of whom had introduced himself as Zabini, though like friend Tonks had asked that he be addressed by his family name: Blaise. Ginny smiled, thankful that these many days and weeks travel had not destroyed the lady within her. She was thankful for someone from such distinction to speak to. Harry himself, she had never found very talkative around her, and the other woman, that, Hermione girl, she was a gruff as any wildling. Ginny missed the cultured, refined talks she would often share with her mother and her ladies of court, hapless chatter around plates of lemon cake and pots of stewed strong tea. At such time Ginny had found such times boring, almost unbearable, now, she'd give anything to hear her mother question her of state matters once again.

Ginny shook her head at Blaise's question and took another sip from... she had forgotten what number of the rich dark wine she had consumed, though Blaise seemed all the happier to keep her continuingly refreshed. Blaise listened intently to her story as, due unto intoxication and loneliness; Ginny found her tongue becoming all the more loose as she recounted the circumstances which had led to her coming to Etyel.

Something, a slight itching caution, questioned if Ginny should be confessing so much of her story to this relative stranger. But the gentle sparkle which lightened Blaise's eyes, his strong, fetching charm, the haziness of so much wine, all united into easing her talk. When finally, with slurred speech and senses numbed, Ginny finished her story, she remembered not much else. Slowly she felt the grip of the wine claim her, peacefully, languidly she slipped down onto the bench falling into the embrace of intoxication.

Harry drew back the tears, of which he knew longed to fall for the loss of his father. He sort not to weep openly before Hermione. He had pride and he was not about to belittle himself before her.

"I..." Harry was ashamed to hear his voice break as he tried to speak. "I should tell Sirius. He and my father were close."

Silently, understandingly, Hermione nodded in kind.

"Will you accompany me? I may need your help if Sirius wants proof."

Hermione smiled her warm smile, then, together they each stood from their stalls and proceeded towards the stairs and to the upper tier of the tavern. The duo paused in the shade of the stair-arch, each of them feeling a faint rustling of nerves, the subtle sense of something unsavoury.

Together both Harry and Hermione turned towards the out facing window to sight the rustle of a cloak sift by. Senses and suspicions heightened, Hermione and Harry exchanged cautious glances. With a slight crack, Hermione vanished with the use of apparition. Harry, seeking her, felt their connection unite and to his surprise, felt an intense suspicion radiating from her.

"Someone listens outside Sirius' window!" Hermione's words were strong, weighted with force as her hand sort the pommel of the sword belted at her waist. "Should I take him?"

Caution emanated through Harry, an intense, utter concern for her. But Hermione ignored such emotions. Harry knew she had attacked the moment she leapt from the rooftop.

Grasping hold of the lip of the roof like a trapeze, Hermione turned her body on her hands at full erection. Using momentum as her force, Hermione swung her body round the slope of the roof, her legs thrust out in a stiff kick towards the eavesdropper who stood close to the balcony window. Blaise barely registered the movement, nor reacted in time. With intense force he was smashed through the window of Sirius' bed chamber.

Tonks and Sirius, who mere moments ago had been discussing the actions of the party, arose in shock. Blaise, winded, broken, stunned issued a groan of agony as he writhed on the floor of the chamber. Harry charged in at the sound of the commotion, his sword drawn, Hermione standing over the form of the stranger.

"What in the name of Merlin is this?" questioned Tonks; Hermione drew her sword and pressed it to Blaise's throat.

"This man," Hermione spat with intense distaste. "Was eavesdropping at your window. I proceeded to spare your privacy."

Harry chuckled, but his laughter died at the expression on his godfathers face. It was shaded with suspicion and annoyance.

"Really?" Sirius drawled and kneeled next to the winded Blaise. After relinquishing him of his weapon he began to search the young man. He rose with a heavy, drawstring purse.

"That's...!" Blaise coughed, Hermione pressed her sword deeper into the fallen man's throat and his protests died in sharp response. Sirius opened the purse, proceeding to pour the contents into his hand. Both Tonks and Hermione gasped and Harry's eyes grew wide at the sight of the crimson Galleons.

"Sonata gold!" spat Sirius gruffly, returning the coins back to the purse and tossing it back to Blaise. "We are no longer safe here. We must leave as soon as possible."

"Should I inform-?"

"Yes," Sirius nodded and then turned his attention towards Harry. "Find Ginny, we leave in an hour."

Harry nodded; he glanced one last time at Hermione then raced from the chamber. Harry found Ginny lying unconscious upon a bench in the saloon. At first sight Harry had feared that she had been stripped of her young life. Then, in approaching saw the shallow, peaceful welling as she breathed. Harry sighed.

"Ginny! Ginny!" Harry shook her un-roughly, attempting to bring her round to her senses. But instead she continued to sleep, dismissive of him and the world around her.

"Seems our little friend has found her limit." Harry, whose senses, he knew, where beginning to whet, felt the unthreatening presence of his Godfather and the party behind him. Harry, saddened, arose to face Sirius.

"Seems as such," Harry gestured towards the unconscious Ginny. "What can we do?"

"We still leave. Our, friend the eavesdropper has been taken care off; Ginny will rouse in time. But she will be suffering from terrible after effects."

Harry heard Hermione snigger and Harry offered her a playful wink. Together both Tonks and Harry lifted Ginny from the bench. Coiling one of her arms across each of their shoulders, they each proceeded to carry the young girl out of the tavern. It was late and not many patrons were present to witness such a scene. Not that such was uncommon amidst a tap room.

Together, when the hour drew upon midnight, the party ventured beyond safety of the fields and cultivated valleys which surrounded Etyel, slowly they were swallowed by dense trees as together the party entered the forest known as The Fair.

Ginny, who had slowly began to rouse from her stupor, in drunken response Ginny flung herself out of Harry and Tonk's gentle clutches. She collapsed willowy to her knees, proceeding to vomit into the sod. Harry, Tonks' and Hermione drew back, disgusted. Ginny continued to wretch when suddenly, off in the distance of the shaded forest, stepped the silhouette of something so huge that it was impossible for the figure to be human.

"A Giant!" Ginny cried, terror and fear exclaiming as she screamed. Sheer panic struck away, her stupor fleeing from her as, in fear, Ginny erupted to her feet and raced into the darkness away from the towering shadow.

"Ginny no!" Tonks called after her, but the youth paid her no heed. Ginny rushed, fear and terror eminent within her as she sort escape from the terrifying sight of the giant. She fought through bramble and shrub, face whipped by low hanging tree limbs. In her haste Ginny's ankle twisted within the well of an animal den and she collapsed to the earth in agony.

Desperately she sort to crawl away, her fingers scratching furrows and ruts in the soil in her haste. She felt hands come upon her in the darkness. Fearfully she lashed out with nail and fist, attempted to fight. But whomever held her down was powerful, powerful and strong.

"There now," spoke a slight, husky voice. "None of that now, little one."

Ginny closed her eyes, felt herself lifted to her feet, tears seeped down her cheeks, she began to pray.


	21. Changing Profession

_**Changing Profession**_

Tears sparkled in young Ginny's eyes as, half carried, half dragged through the brambles and brush of the Fair, her captor lead her on. Her ankle zinged with pain in every other foot step, her fear tightening so deep in her chest she could scarcely breathe. Through the dense shadows of the forest she looked up at her captor, though her eyes fell upon nothing but a dark, matted cowl.

"Who...?" Ginny was about to question, but her words clenched in her throat. Through the darkness, breaking amidst the trunks and brambles, there issued the gentle, twinkling light of a camp fire. Her captor seemed to be leading her towards the flickering flames, and soon, with a gruff hand, Ginny was forced through into a slight clearing.

"Here's the little one," so chuckled her captor in a husky tone. Ginny's eyes falling upon her friends as they sighted her with concern. "She has done herself a mischief, but she has returned to us."

Within the clearing there stood three wagons, each sidled with a horse, some paired others single, covered with canvas shelters, positioned in single file near the edge of the clearing. But Ginny's eyes barely registered the freight carts. Ginny, ashen faced and trembling, gazed once more at the towering figure who dominated the party. Huge, hulking, impossible. The giant towered above the party, his visage tangled with a wild, unkempt beard the same colour as his tousled black hair. His form was as wide as an ancient oak, clad in a tumbling chainmail shirt and raw hide trousers fashioned with tough leather straps. At his back there was slung his weapon: a spiked iron warhammer, so vast that it looked as that not even a hundred regular men could lift its weight. The giant, eyes as black as obsidian, offered Ginny a smile, but it was a smile so warm, so caring that it almost chased away her fear entirely.

"Sorry if I frightened ya, young lady Weasley." To Ginny's utter surprise the giant bent low and offered a clumsy attempt at a formal bow.

"Do not flatter the girl, Hagrid," Sirius spoke gruffly turning to face the started Ginny. "What have you done to yourself?"

Ginny blinked, the pain in her ankle almost completely forgotten. Then at the mention of it her ankle quivered and she gestured in kind.

"You'll slow us down with a twisted ankle." Sirius informed sternly. Ginny's heart plummeted. She gazed desperately to Harry, her weight almost entirely rested upon her uninjured leg.

"Can't you heal me?" Ginny pleaded desperately. "The same way you did Hermione?"

Harry gazed at Sirius who offered him a simple gaze of question. Slowly Harry shook his head.

"I'm sorry," so spake Harry, his tone sorrowful. "But what I did, when I healed Hermione, I… I can't explain, it was more instinct than knowledge. I wouldn't want to risk injuring you knowing that I am yet to master my powers."

Ginny moaned in sorrow as she attempted to rest weight upon her injured appendage. She gasped and Sirius sighed.

"Sirius, don't torture the girl," scolded Tonks forcefully as she stepped close to Ginny, gesturing for Ginny to rest. "Haven't you ever made a mistake?"

"Truly," Hermione said gently. "I do not believe little Ginny should be punished for her fear of our dear Hagrid. But we must ask her about our friend the eavesdropper."

"Eaves-?" Ginny swallowed her visage suddenly shamefaced. "You don't mean Blaise?"

"Dark, attractive young man? Rich garb, brown eyes?" Hermione said matter-of-factly. Tears brightened the young Weasley's eyes.

"I... I thought he liked me." Ginny's voice cracked with sorrow, Tonks placed a comforting arm around the young girl.

"Blaise?" Ginny looked up, for the first time sighting the man who had lead her back to the company. The man's face was drawn, sallow, his frame willowy and gaunt. He looked drained, as if sleep failed to find him, but his blue eyes were clear and flecked with wisdom.

"So Ginny has introduced him, friend Lupin," addressed Sirius in turn. "A young man with a little too much Sonata gold to be trusted."

"I trust," The giant Hagrid spoke gruffly. "That you dealt with him rightly?"

"We left him tied up in the waste shoot of the Fox grove tavern." Harry said with a hint of amusement to his voice. "He'll be found stinking of pig sloop and waste by the morning."

"We should have slit his throat and be rid of him," Hermione snapped fiercely. "Sonata gold loosens tongues far too easily."

"Very nice, great lady," drawled the man named Lupin. "But this is Adaleel, not Temas; murder is rather looked down upon in this part of the world."

The corners of Hermione's lips twitched and her eyes glinted. Ginny moaned as Tonks slowly worked off her stiff leather boot to attend to her injury. Ginny's injury, upon further inspection, found to have been far worse than first anticipated. The ankle wasn't twisted, moreover the muscle itself was badly torn.

"I'm afraid," Tonks said gazing up at Ginny with sombre eyes. "There won't be much rambling for you, friend."

Ginny sobbed, shame breaking her pride so great that a single tear seeped down her cheek.

"You can ride in the back of the wagon, friend Ginny." gruffed Hagrid gently. "I will go gently so as not to cause you discomfort."

Ginny gazed at Hagrid her eyes over-bright but her gaze thankful.

"Thank you, friend Hagrid, you are most gracious."

"Speaking of which?" Tonks inquired gesturing towards three freight carts. "What do you plan with these wagons?"

Sirius chuckled with mirth.

"We are changing profession," Sirius said gently. "Blaise will be expecting us to head straight to Vardil-Galin in the east. Instead we shall be heading for Hogsmeade on the west coast."

"Hogsmeade?" Tonks asked in a tone that spoke volumes. "We will never make it before the winter if we travel by wagon."

"Oh have no fear of the cold, young lady," The man named Lupin chuckled. "There are ways to cross vast Westenra which can hasten our journey."

Tonks gazed at Lupin, her gaze one of intense disbelief. Lupin returned the gaze, then with a sigh Tonks turned her attention back to Ginny.

"Hope you don't fear heights." Hermione whispered with taunting affection in Harry's ear. He blinked himself trying to make sense of her words. Why on earth would he have fear of heights when they were travelling by wagon?

"Can she travel?" barked Sirius gazing down at Ginny who turned her eyes away from him.

"She'll need to rest," Tonks said gently speaking more to Ginny than to Sirius. "I've done all I can."

"As is said, she can rest in my wagon." Hagrid's voice thundered protectively as he crashed his fist into his chest. His mail shirt jingled with the impact. Ginny glanced up, a light smile crossing her fair face. Sirius eyed Hagrid sternly then shaking his head gestured for them all to prepare for the long journey ahead.


	22. Romance Of The Road

_**Romance Of The Road**_

The company traversed leagues of two and twenty with the passing of four moon falls. Paired two to each wagon, siding the freight which carried the injured Ginny, their party trudged on at a leisurely pace. High over-head soared Sky Dwellers, Ginny herself, noticing one which soared with them upon their journey, issued a blessing speaking of the guardians of travel and safety who take the form of birds to watch over the wayfarers of Westenra.

Lupin, stationed at head wagon with Sirius, led the convoy. It seemed that the sallow faced gentleman possessed a nearing inhuman understanding of the trails and chains which etched their way through the valleys of Adaleel, leading them upon a journey so convoluted that any possible pursuit seemed almost impossible.

Stardawn sifted over each evening with the promise of rough slumber. Blankets were lain down upon stiff, late autumn earth; themselves taking shelter beneath the wagons while each offering duty to take watch. On the dawn of the fifth Stardawn they came upon the bridge of The Twins, a forked waterway choked by the great Skal'arth dame.

The bridge of the Twins was in itself a bustling trade post. Erected to exploit the purses of merchants and travellers who truly, possessed no which way to cross from Adaleel to the west without otherwise braving the wrath of the living mountains of The Brace.

Lupin slowly trotted their convoy along the rough dirt road which led towards The Bridge. At the mouth of the village a guard, slack and hunched with tedium stepped from the gatehouse and halted the advancement of the party.

"What business brings you to The Bridge?" questioned a droning guard his demeanour so relaxed that he failed to even register the sheer outlandishness of Sirius' weapon and of Hagrid's warrior garb. Lupin, eyes bright and joyful smiled good-naturedly.

"My name is Moony of Nyery." Lupin addressed speaking with polish and distinction. "I travel towards my home croft to bring my wares back to my wife and younglings."

"Nyery?" the guards eyes brightened at the mention of the affluent province stationed as one of the three largest crofts to erect and control trade around Lael Depths.

"Truly good sir." Lupin gazed slyly at Sirius then, as if for effect, smoothed the front of his tight fitting hoes to such as to cause the purse fastened to his belt to clink with the presence of coin. The guard's eyes glinted greedily.

"We are obligated to take stock of your wares," the guard said, his tone one of oily authority. "You an' your party shall need to be detained until it is finished."

Lupin's smile twitched with pleasure, slowly; teasingly he reached into his draw string purse and withdrew a fine yellow galleon.

"Time is money my friend," Lupin drawled charmingly rolling the coin playfully along his fingers. "Couldn't we...?"

Lupin left the question hanging, he jingled his purse again and the guard smiled as toothily as his broken tines would allow. Coins changed hands and soon the wagons pass by the guards un-stocked and unmolested.

Once the wagon and horse were safely stationed within the stables and keep houses, Harry climbed down from the wagon bed, turning to offer Hermione his hand and assistance. She smiled ingratiatingly as her hand fit his perfectly. She stepped down nimbly. Harry in a display of rigid breeding, offered her a courtly bow, Hermione chuckled at his play.

"Dearest Harry," Hermione addressed with playful pleasure. "I see the soul of a gentleman still rests within you."

"Only for you." Harry spoke his voice rich and his vivid jade eyes bright with pleasure. Hermione winked then, pressing two fingers to her lips, issued him a silent kiss. Harry blinked but Hermione had turned on her heel and had begun to stride towards the party.

"She's a great lady." a thick, burly voice startled Harry awake from his admiration. Harry turned into the towering form of Hagrid standing close to him.

"She is," Harry agreed airily his gaze returning once more to the beauteous Hermione, herself tending to Ginny with the help of Sirius. "A great lady."

"Matters of the heart are more dangerous than The Vulcan can ever be, friend Harry," Hagrid cautioned placing oversized mitt upon Harry's shoulder. "It can be both ya greatest strength an' ya most potent weakness. Only time can tell which will fall to you."

Harry's heart deflated as simply as if someone had struck him with a sword. Never, never had he ever considered his feelings to be a weakness. Could it be possible? Did care and compassion make someone weak?

Harry failed to confide in the giant his fears, instead he unbridled the horses and attempted the examinations they must endure before they each set out once again upon their journey.

When at last he was finished, Harry failed to join the company, instead he proceeded to wander aimlessly amidst the chaotic throng and shop strewn streets of The Bridge. He had wandered not too far when once again the sensation of an unsavoury presence washed over him. Lifting the hood of his cloak, Harry shuffled through the mass, feeling for the sensation, awaiting its peek. A nagging caution nibbled at his actions, wising for him to step away from this foolish pursuit and bound on fleet feet back to his friends. The spike issued with the passing of a kayos.

Beneath the hood of his cloak, his face concealed in shadow, Harry turned to sight Blaise sift by. Shock and surprise gave over to intense alarm. Seeing the short wicked sword belted at Blaise's waist, Harry knew better than to draw the fellow's attention, nor offer him engagement. But the fact that he had somehow followed them from Etyel to The Bridge was alarming.

Blaise turned down a side street leading away from the main high street, the path leading down a most, unsavoury grotto. Seeing his chance Harry hastened on his feet and hurried to inform Sirius and his friends of Blaise's presence. Himself still quite unable to believe, how? How had he known which direction they would go and where to find them?"

"Are you certain?" questioned Sirius of Harry when, breathlessly he had returned to the party and recited what, or whom he had sighted.

"Without question he turned into a grotto on the market square." Harry recounted Sirius eyed Harry sternly.

"This changes things," stated Sirius forcefully. "I do not believe it is coincidence that one in possession of so much Sonata gold just happens to be in the same village as us."

"Shall we cross sooner?" questioned Tonks gazing precautionary at the injured Ginny.

"I could visit him with my hammer?" the giant Hagrid rumbled. "One strike from Kelda and he shall hinder us no more."

A collective snigger sounded from a number of the party, but in all seriousness none wished to underestimate their new opponent.

"We leave The Bridge behind us," Sirius barked sternly, his final words issuing fear amidst all of the company. "We shall travel towards Hogsmeade through The Brace." *


	23. Awaken The Giant

_**Awaken The Giant**_

"The wind grows chill," Tonks, stationed upon the lead wagon beside Hagrid, offered no words of gaiety, nor comfort to the apprehension in their hearts. Her words were that of truth, harsh, strong, blunt. Together the company had come to leave the foothills and well tilled valleys if Adaleel, now the land around them grew stark, cold and void of greens and verdant colour, instead stark blacks and greys now added a sombre mood to the party. Streams and rivers ran dark and thick, unfit for drinking, themselves the flowing essences of living elements. From them towered forests of cold Sentinel trees, themselves grown and sprouted from the very existence of ancient minerals buried deep within the earth, grown into towering, impenetrable giants of ore. The trees were black as shadow, armoured in thick grey needles, as sharp as downy pins. Ginny, currently stationed in the rear of Tonks and Hagrid's caravan, currently stitched the vaguest embroidery of her Houses coat of arms upon the breast of her tunic, using one of a handful of needles gathered from beneath the height of a Sentinel.

Ginny looked up from her work to gaze at the Ranger. Truly she to understood the warning in Tonks' words. After leaving the verdant woodland clefts and plains of Adaleel, so to did the wind ensue. A terrible, biting chill, the stab of icy fingers reaching through leathers, chilling, ominous with its air.

"Lady Tonks," Ginny addressed, polite and formal as she forced herself to sit close to the wagon bed, all-the-while nursing her torn leg. "Why is The Brace called The Living Peeks?"

"They speak for themselves don't they?" Tonks turned in her seat, reached back and tousled the young ladies crimson locks. "Never fear, I have crossed The Living Peaks many a time."

"Yes, but do they live?" Ginny insisted on her question, a trace of fascination to her voice. Tonks eyed her curiously, her face reflective.

"They are the most dangerous of all the passes in vast Westenra. It is said that the peeks can swallow a traveller or party with just a changing of mood. Such is why they are so named."

Ginny gasped, staring off into the distance. Upon the horizon there lingered the emergence of towering blue-grey giants, caped with snow white summits. Ginny swallowed as the chill of the wind cut deeper. She pulled her cloak tight and turned away unwilling to show her fear.

.

"Which is your Line?" questioned Harry of Hermione settling their horse into a gentle trot. Hermione glanced up from the fine, leather bound tomb into which she was absorbed. She settled the book to her breast, her gaze intense, deep, penetrating.

"Which Line do you ask of?" inquired Hermione, folding her hands across her tomb all attention upon her travel mate.

"You are learned," stated Harry gesturing towards her pile of intensely thick books which she had salvaged from an unlearned trader in Etyel. "Where I hail from the learned arts are only taught to Highborn children. I wish to know which Highborn family you hail from."

Hermione gazed at him, gently, pityingly.

"I am not, Highborn," stated Hermione in firm absolution. "I am of Mudblood."

Harry gasped at the use of such a terrible obscenity. The word itself was a foul rendition of the title Bastard. To be named a Bastard one must be sired Highborn to Highborn, though born illegitimate. A Mudblood was the hideous title for those who had been born Highborn to common, Muggle blood.

"Do not be offended," Hermione smiled a gentle gleam to her eye. "I am proud of my blood."

"But... your sire?" Harry groped for words which did not come; Hermione shook her head.

"My bearer. My sire was Muggle born, my lady mother, she was Highborn." Hermione set down her tomb and continued.

"I knew not my lady mother, all I know is she blessed me with my label, once I was named I was outcast, sent to my father to nurture. But I possessed talents far beyond a simple Muggle born. I could ride before I could walk, wield weapons when I was yet to babble my first word. My sire sent me to Temas at seven to receive an education amidst the warrior race. It was there that I was taught the learned arts."

"Temas?" Harry gazed respectively at Hermione. "You survived The Rearing?"

Hermione offering him a long, deep look. He drew in a single, stalling breath.

"You... you are Crypteia?"

Hermione offered him a slight, dark smile.

"So was my honour."

Harry's heart began to beat a rapid cadence, a rhythm born from a deep, intense fear. He gazed upon this startling, beautiful, so utterly dangerous woman not daring to breathe. A Crypteia was only awarded to those who survived The Rearing of Temas as the strongest, the totally fearsome, the utterly merciless. Harry knew that the woman beside him possessed hands steeped in blood. He was afraid, afraid and captivated.

Hermione winked and turned back to her tomb.

.

"I like this not Moony," confided Sirius his tone laced with concern. "Sonata gold is rare, rare and precious, why would Bellatrix and The One offer so much to a simple underling?"

"Think this had not occurred to me, Padfoot." so spake Moony, his visage sullen. "I believe there is more to this than can be understood by simple travel. I would like to know what our dear friend Blaise would say, if he were to meet Kelda."

Sirius chuckled darkly, standing, their wagon the rear of the convoy he gazed out into the expanse they were leaving.

"By the gods!" Sirius gasped. Moony blinked, concern ebbed into his weather beaten face as he gazed upon Sirius, troubled by his friends exclamation. Sirius lowered himself down, his visage fear stricken and gaunt.

"What is it?" questioned Moony, Sirius swallowed, his voice breaking as he struggled to regain his sense of self.

"Vek'lor! A mass of Vek'lor!"

Moony handed Sirius the bridle, standing upon the wagon bed, he rose to gaze back at the wilderness beyond them. Fear lanced his heart. The land behind them was a mass of bodies, moving as one, the dreaded heard, the sky thick and choked with the presence of the Crgak, the Vek'lor's terrible carrion spawn.

"So many," Moony breathed his voice thick with terror and dread. "These are Draz'Vek, the Warrior Rams. The Crgak only follow where there shall be bloodshed."

"We must hasten!" Sirius issued the order. "We and our friends can fight a few Rams, but not an entire heard. Is Harry so precious that The One would order his shock troops to hunt him?"

"This I know not, also we know not if they truly hunt us. But I am in mind with you. We must hasten. But what of young Lady Weasley? She cannot gallop with her injury."

"We have no other choice. None of us possess enough power to Apparate her to Hogsmeade without the risk of splinching ourselves or Ginny."

Lupin nodded in consent. Thrusting his palm forward, Lupin a silvery apparition form-casted upon the air. The patronus soared through the air, seeking to give voice were a lone voice would not be heard. All listened to the patronus, drawing their horses to a halt. Stepping down to gaze upon the sheer magnitude of what pursued them.

"In the name of the true gods!" exclaimed Tonks as she sighted the Draz'Vek and their dreaded Sky Spawn.

"We must abandon our wagons, speed is our only option."

"What of-?" Tonks swallowed her words, gazed at Ginny, her visage sorrowful. "Ride with me, Lady Weasley. Fleet and swift we shall ride."

Ginny drew herself up proudly, but could not climb into the saddle herself, the pain in her leg still to fresh. Inside his mammoth arms Hagrid lifted her up onto the horse's back, Tonks swung herself up into the saddle before her, graceful, elegant, determined.

"Ride fast, I'll hold them off." roared Hagrid, himself shouldering off his mighty warhammer, slamming it hard to his free hand, a tower of strength offering them protection in their flight.

"No Hagrid!" Ginny cried out, fearful, heart wrenched at his words. She had come to hold the towering giant dear in her heart. "You must come, please!"

Hagrid smiled warmly, placed a gentle kiss upon Ginny's cheek.

"Be strong little Weasley. Now get on going!"

"Hagrid!" Harry spake, himself taking the rear with Hermione's upon their palomino horse. They each exchanged glances, Hagrid smiled. Hermione ushered the horse forward, they sped away from the giant at a gallop.

Hagrid's roar of defiance, the strident crash of combat, issued to the very heart of The Brace.


	24. The Parting Of The Ways

_**The Parting Of The Ways **_

They could ride no longer. Hermione drew their stallion to a halt, not needing any order, for she knew that Harry himself shared her thoughts. They rode at the rear of their fellowship, watching how their friends fled, brave they were, but only one had possessed true courage. Harry and Hermione's hearts were with the one who they had left behind.

The sound of combat resounded fiercely amidst the chill of the wilderness, the roar of the Draz'Vek, blood thirsty, fearsome. Hagrid's bellows, mighty, brave, unaided. Surely they should flee? So was his wish, but the thought of which wrenched at Harry's spirit, stabbed fiercely at Hermione's warrior soul. They offered their fellowship one final gaze. Hermione commanded the horse to turn. In haste they raced back towards the sounds of combat, hasted to assist Hagrid.

Hermione forced the horse into a pacy gallop. Drawn by the clamour of combat, the shriek of soaring Crgak. The Sky Spawn circled so thick overhead that they darkened the once sallow rays of the late season sun. The crash of steel on steel, sounded upon the wind, enforced the spirit with renewed vigour, drove the lance deeper as they raced on. The pair erupted unto the duel in a shower of grey-green needles and roars of ravenous Rams. Hermione leapt from the body of the stallion in a display of elegant flamboyance, drawing her sword and landing nimbly to her feet. Harry slid from the horse beside her, his sword drawn.

The air grew weighted; the Rams gnashed their stumpy teeth. Harry slowly grew bathed in deep bright gold, himself garbed in bright, godlike armour of his Grace. The use of magic startled the Rams, their race feared the arcane, the occult. Hagrid gazed wide eyed and fearful at the two warriors. Himself, giant as he was, nearing overwhelmed by such impossible numbers.

The Draz'Vek Rams stood approaching shoulder height with Hagrid, whose giant blood stationed him twice as tall as a normal man. Broad, garbed in tight fitting iron, exhibited bulging, fur strewn chests. Each Ram bore either spear, axe or warhammer. It appeared they possessed neither the skill, ability nor mental prowess to wield a sword. Their legs were formed from that of some grotesque goat, coursed with a matted, oily black fleece. About their heads were curled dark, grime strewn horns.

"What are ya doing?!" groaned Hagrid despairingly, his eyes falling upon Harry and Hermione. "Get outta 'ere!"

The Draz'Vek issued a great cry. Hermione roared her challenge. Harry took up the call. Together they charged.

.

The trees began to press upon them, their speed slowly dwindling. The attack came swift and sudden.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light surged from the wilderness, illuminating the trees with its terrible essence. It struck Sirius' steed. The horse toppled with so little as a final gasp. Sirius crashed to the earth with the force of the animals collapse. Tonks and Remus leapt from their mounts in concern. Sirius' wounds, few and un-grave held no time to be treated; they gaze issued towards the shadow of the Sentinel trees, looking for the origin of the Killing Curses. From the shadows they emerged. Two members of The Vulcan: The Youth and The Beast. They were flanked by a third warrior. Lean, strong, adorned with a helm wrought of amber and gold, the warrior bore the silver and jade colours of The Vulcan.

"Little girl..." growled Greyback wolfishly, his eyes drifting towards Ginny, ropes of drool seeped from his fanged teeth as he licked his lips. "Such sweet blood."

A crack resounded, and in an instant Lupin appeared before Ginny, still stationed upon the horse she had been sharing with Tonks, standing guard, his form open, his body loose.

"You wanna play, Remus?" growled Greyback in challenge. "Fancy another bite?"

"Let us see whom bites whom, filth!" Greyback snarled, Lupin snapped in challenge. Ginny gasped, together both Remus and Greyback began to bare the lengthening fangs, claws, the mussels of wolves. Tunic, leather, cotton, all tore from their forms as two werewolves transformed.

In a rush of fur, the snap of fangs, the two beasts leapt to biting, clawing, The horses reared, Ginny fell from her saddle, the stallions bolted for the trees, all, friend, foe, each drew back fearful as the two werewolves engaged. Blood streamed from torn flesh, opened fresh wounds upon pelt, hide, mussel. Greyback ran for the restriction of the woods, Lupin bared after him, snapping at heels as he gave chase. The sound of fighting slowly melding with nature as the two werewolves drew deeper within the wood.

"Now that the, _Animals_ have departed," The Youth spoke, raising a long, dark spear, he gestured to each of the company in kind, he raised his eyebrows playfully at the helmed figure beside him. "I say, this is our playtime?"

.

"Ovaikh!" issued the cry of a voice, guttural, throaty, female. At the harsh command so did the force of the Draz'Vek Rams slowly disengage. Harry, Hermione and Hagrid gazed towards the slowly parting line of Rams. Terror lanced Harry's heart at the sight whom emerged from amidst the sea of monstrosities: Bellatrix Black. She stepped forth amidst the shock troops, her living blade loose, taking the form as an instrument of persuasion. She looked as beautifully sinister as Hermione was fair and proud. Returned to full glory, a deadly light aflame within the depths of her dark, scornful eyes.

"Grace Wielder..." her tone was a shallow, serpentine hiss, the bladed whip rose, cracked with the emphasis of her words. "We meet once more."

Hagrid forced himself between she and his friends. The dark haired woman raised her hand. The Grace within her, its glyph upon her arm, erupted in a shower of obsidian light. A torrent of air slammed into Hagrid, struck him with the force of an ancient Dragon hide. Forcefully, Hagrid was ripped from the touch of mother earth, his body sailed high, directly over the heads of Hermione and Harry. His form arched before he collapsed, brokenly, bested, unconscious.

Harry seized the hilt of his splendid sword, turned from Hagrid's broken body to face Bellatrix his visage wrought with fury. She offered him a dark, contemptuous smile. With a sweeping gesture she offered he and Hermione a bow.

"Shall we dance?"

.

The Youth drew towards Tonks, his spear held before him, his air radiant with arcane energy. Tonks forced young Ginny behind her form, drew her sword and stood strong in defence of the young Weasley. Sirius drew the arms of the helm clad warrior. Each stood, eyes locked with each other. Sirius, strong, fierce, The Youth, intense, mysterious, Tonks, lean, stationed, the warrior loose, open. Sirius eyed the warrior. As one the four fell unto each other to fierce combat.

Sirius' sword resounded upon the steel of the warrior's sword, the massy broadsword shaking, but not unbalancing the intense strength his foe possessed.

The Youth flourished his spear about his head, lunged at Tonks. With force she pushed back injured Ginny to safety, side stepping the spear thrust, lifting her sword to bite into mail strewn sleeves. Blood welled between the rings. The youth drew back, growled, attacked with a back hand side.

The two swords met in a volley of blows. Sirius drew back, attempted to inch about and flank the warrior, but whoever he was, he was far to experienced to be undone by so simple a strategy. The warrior attacked swiftly, fainting to Sirius' flank, only to lift his sword twisting his wrist, attempting to strike at Sirius's unprotected cranium. Sirius barely raised the heavy pommel of his sword in time, catching his foes blade upon his swords simple cross-guard. With force and effort Sirius thrust the warrior back. Sirius redoubled his attack, issuing upon the warrior with a number complex, full strength strikes. The warrior deflected each blow, his much sleeker Longsword offering him swifter movements. Sirius began to tire.

The Revelation hit Sirius with terrible absolution.

The warrior's movements, skill, swordsmanship, all possessed a startling familiarity. Then he saw it, with a final, strenuous effort, Sirius slashed at the warrior, forcing him to leap back from the cleaving slice. The flamboyant use of flourish which the warrior controlled his blade, spinning the blade in a display of skilful eloquence. The weapon leaving the warriors free hand backhanded only to be grasped in mid-air by his sword-hand, finishing with a flourish of movement, spinning his blade in a quick circle at his side and taking up a ready stance. A lance of dread speared into Sirius' heart. Sirius knew only one person so confident, so skilful to attempt anything so dangerous, so utterly flamboyant in battle.

"No! Not you!" Sirius cried. He lunged forward, trapping the warrior's sword between his pit. Disabled Sirius caught the rim of the warrior's ornate helm beneath his fingers. With an effort Sirius wrenched the helmet loose from the warrior. So unveiled was James Potter.


	25. Hermione's Pledge

_**Hermione's Pledge**_

At first Sirius felt an initial surge of joy, the kinship he had always shared with James Potter at the sight of him. Then that intense kinship roiled with disgust, sickness and betrayal. He drew back, anguish, horror evident upon his face as he gazed disbelievingly into the eyes of his greatest friend. James, eying this intense display of emotion curled his lips in a slight smile and offered Sirius a courtly bow.

"Pleased to see me, old friend?" James' words were mocking, cold, implacable, no trace of the warmth, pride or honour which, Sirius had believed, once forged the spine and soul of this man, his fellow Marauder whom he had fought beside for so long.

He gazed from James to The Youth who was engaged with Tonks, who fought desperately, his head flashing between Tonks and James. Understanding dawned upon Sirius.

"You're not yourself!" snapped Sirius rushing towards The Youth, the most powerful magic user within The Reign. James, seemingly struck by horror, forced himself between The Youth and Sirius. They fell to engagement, James' once primed and elegant style now transformed to one of fear, chaotic, desperate. Sirius' sighting this, took advantage of his friends wild blows. Catching his sword on his blade in a wide arc, Sirius exposed the body of his friend. Sirius, in shame and love, issued a blow of dishonour, striking James viciously between the fork of his legs.

James collapsed to the floor like an empty sack at Sirius' feet. The broad Marauder offered him a single apologetic gaze, a lance of fear striking his heart at the thought of Lily's wrath, then he charged The Youth. Barty Crouch Jr's skill at arms was nothing to his magic's prowess. He sort to engage Tonks in a wizard's duel, to use his extensive knowledge of magic to overwhelm her. But Tonks, wise in wisdom, forced him to resort to his weapon. Unprepared for Sirius' attack, Sirius brought his massy broadsword down upon the body of The Youth's guard positioned spear in a cleaving slice. It snapped the magic user's weapon as simply as if it were a branch. Tonks took up the advantage, taking the youth in the gut. Barty Crouch Jr issued a groan of pain; the weight of his body slowly drove the blade deeper into himself as his legs willowed. His blood seeped upon Tonks' hand, a final confirmation of his eminent death. His final gaze was into the contemptuous eyes of his killer.

.

In a blur of motion Bellatrix attacked. Hermione caught her blade on her own sword. With clawed fingers Bellatrix seized handfuls of Hermione's dark tresses, drove her knee deep into her foes abdomen. Pivoting, Bellatrix slashed at Harry's side. Harry deflected the blow with his shield, the living blade rattling with a clang off the massy guard. Leaping into the air, Bellatrix's body arched about Harry's sword thrust, the golden blade sheaving through the flail of her tunic, her body un-kissed by the golden blade. Harry instinctively raised his shield. Bellatrix brought her living sword crashing down with the full force of her strength, resounding the cry from the brilliant shield, driving Harry backwards, his legs willowing beneath him at the force of such power.

Hermione rushed forward. Her sword whipped in a blur of motion, slashing at Bellatrix's lightly armoured cage. Reflexively Bellatrix parried the blow. Swords erupted in a sparks upon the impact of the two blades. Together the two women met to a complex series of blows, Hermione stabbed and parried, each dancing on fleet feet, forcing each back. Once Bellatrix forced Hermione back towards the circle of Rams amidst which they fought, Hermione held her ground fending off Bellatrix's attacks no matter how clever. Then with a shower of crimson sparks, Hermione set to a dance of death, forcing Bellatrix into retreat towards the centre of the ring. Harry entered the fray. He attacked Bellatrix with all the skill and technique learned from Hermione and Sirius.

But still, despite being outnumbered two – to – one Bellatrix endured the combined force of Harry and Hermione. Bellatrix met each blow with ease and skill, the pair driven back, the two stunned by their foes ferocity and speed. Bellatrix did not relent. Hair whipped through the air as she focused her attacks upon the weaker of her foes: Harry. Terror roiled in Harry's gut as Bellatrix ripped away his godlike shield, where, removed from its bearer, it dissolved upon the air leaving him unguarded, except for his sword and dream forged breastplate. Sensing blood, Bellatrix erupted into the air, seeking to strike at Harry's exposed key bone.

It happed in a blur of motion. Bellatrix stalled in her strike. Her body struck in surprise by the impact of a spear shaft. Thrown backwards with the force of the projectiles thrust. Bellatrix clutched at her side where the spear drew the stain of dark blood upon her leathers. Her eyes flashed in pained agony to see Hermione standing over her, a look of contempt upon her fine visage.

"Would you pike me like some guileless swine?" hissed Bellatrix her tone one of shamed agony. Hermione, brutally, dug the spear in ever so deeper, allowing herself to enjoy Bellatrix's helplessness. Harry came beside her, weakened, exhausted, placed a gauntleted hand upon her shoulder.

"Let her up, she is our enemy yes, but she deserves the right to a dignified defeat." Hermione gazed towards him, a spasm of anger passed swiftly across her face. But as quickly as it came, so did she pull the spear from Bellatrix, training the steel blade upon their fallen enemy.

"Run back to your master," stated Hermione and her words came as that of a grand and glorious Knight of the realm issuing an unbreakable pledge.

"Know this, Black! The Grace of Light resides within the soul of Harry Potter, and I, Hermione Jean Granger, Crypteia of Temas, Free Blade of vast Westenra, stand at his side. I will guard against The Reign with Sinew and Steel until I am set upon the pyre and my passage is paid. Flee, Black, flee and take heed, the next time we meet, I shall extinguish the light from your eyes."

Hermione lashed out with a stiff kick. Bellatrix scuttled away, shame and anger flashed in her eyes as she glanced back at Hermione and Harry, her eyes speaking her own pledge, black and cruel. A crack issued the use of apparition. The Draz'Vek, once so vicious and blood thirsty, blinked, each looked startled and alarmed as if released from some terrible witchery. An air of peace and tranquillity settled over them as they meandered away. Hermione stood, standing in the glen, Harry beside her. Their hands threaded together, content in each other's touch. They eyed each other, concern and emotions high, they smiled.

A rustle of verge disturbed their serenity. Harry turned into total disbelief.

**Authors Note**_ – Hey there dearest Fan Fiction World! I hope you have enjoyed this first venture into the world which is the Song of Fate Cycle. First of all I would like to take time and offer my thanks to Pawsrule, elle baybee and SABER for their fantastic support over this first story and also for all who was kind enough to offer constrictive criticism and praise._

_I hope you all understand that writing is both a rewarding and demanding hobby, so I plan to take a few weeks rest to recover, regain my creative energy, and begin writing the next chronicle in the Cycle._

_Once again thank you for your fantastic support you are all amazing._

_Good Karma to all. Wishing you all well in whatever endeavour you may pursue._

_Dark OriginVTX _–


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